


Love in the Fine Print

by MySoCalledAngst



Category: Beetlejuice (1988)
Genre: Dark Romance, F/M, Forced Marriage, Kink, Marriage Contract, dark themes, soul bond?? kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MySoCalledAngst/pseuds/MySoCalledAngst
Summary: A book bound in leather appeared on Lydia’s 18th birthday. The contents upon the page spewed rule, regulation, and exceptions one after the other.The details of her ever so valid marriage to the ghost with the most.Intangible forces pull her resolve, drawing her closer and closer to him. The road of life before her was grim, unless she could take the reigns and find light within the confines of her dark room.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz, Betelgeuse/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 31
Kudos: 153





	1. Uncorking the Bottle

**MARRIAGE CONTRACT 846660  
* LIVING PARTY (1)  
* DEAD PARTY (1)**

**This contract defines the relationships between the LIVING PARTY, hereby known as LD, and the DEAD PARTY, hereby known as BG.**

**xxx**

**1.4 AGE ACTIVATION  
In accordance with Netherworld standards, the regulations lined within this contract become active no later than the 18th birthday of LD for LD. BG will be bound immediately following the ceremony of marriage.**

**1.6 ANNULMENTS, DIVORCES, SEPARATION  
Termination of Pre/Post marriage is not available. BG and LD are hereby bound to the contract of marriage until and unless one or both are exorcised.**

**xxx**

**13.1 POSSESSION PERMISSIONS  
LD understands their person may be influenced and effected by powers of the Netherworld by Possession Permission, hereby known as PP. **

**13.18 MORTIFICATION MONOGAMY  
LD and BG allow by use of possession permissions to be bound to monogamy via PP. PP will render both parties unable to initiate or accept all but platonic invitations.**

**xxx**

**78.4 DEATH DO WE NOT PART  
Marriage will remain viable after the death of LD. LD is granted to skip the waiting room and be delivered to BG, then meet with the caseworker of BG. **

**78.97 SPECTRAL INFERTILITY  
Marriages between the living and dead will be unable to have children, either biologically or adopted in both the Nether and Outerworld. This is guaranteed by PP. **

**xxx  
83.8 ADVANCED HAUNT COMMUNICATION  
This marriage is subject to specialized clauses. Below are the special circumstances:**

*** INCANTATION INFLUENCE: BG is under control of a name binding curse; LD will be drawn to summon BG to their location.  
* INCANTATION RIGHTS: LD is given sole rights over BG’s summoning, no external party will be able to call BG without LD’s expressed consent  
* INCANTATION CONTROL: LD is granted ability to control* BG  
* INCANTATION SENSITIVITY: 1st call manifests BG behind glass, 2nd call manifests BG in Outerworld in ethereal form, 3rd call manifests BG in Outerworld in physical form  
*May or may not meet the individual standards of control. **

—

Lydia tossed her highlighter to the side, palms rubbing her eyelids, desperate to release the pressure within her skull. A stack of parchment bound in leather of _questionable_ origin, outlining the details of her surprisingly still  
valid marriage was not the birthday present she had been looking forward to. 

But it had been the one she got. Well, that, plus a bonus. 

_**Lydia,** _

_**Best I could do was keep him bound to the name curse. Good luck, kid.** _

_**Sincerely departed,  
Juno** _

Lydia looked over the pink laced text; the only clauses that could work to her advantage.

“When life gives you lemons,” Lydia mused as he tabbed the pages of interest “, lace the lemonade.”

—

The phonetics of his name ran on a loop in her mind, the quiet yet permanent ear worm of her voice summoning him. Over weeks, then months, her own voice grew distorted. Garbled nonsense until his name no longer seemed real. Certainly she didn’t sound like that. Her voice longed to remind her, her ears itched to hear it. 

Lydia mastered the ability of shoving it down. Annoying as it was, she found a balance, and much like the spirits she saw within her peripherals every day, it became nothing more than static in her world. 

As long as she had constant stimulation, the urge was weakened. Her television always stayed on, volume turned a few notches too high. Her music was always up. She would chain read books like a fiending smoker. 

Lydia also learned weed and liquor could turn it down too. 

—

She dreamt of him often. 

Sometimes, she was screaming and crying as the monster chased her down the aisle. Lydia would find herself pinned in place, her voice possessed to declare love, and a bucket of blood being poured on her from the rafters. The audience, a sea of people with no distinguishable human features, would all open a black gaping maw and let out screeching laughter at her misery. 

Sometimes, she screamed for other reasons. Ice cold hands on fire hot flesh, biting teeth that held no true danger, leather bindings on her... leather bindings on _him_. Supernatural encounters of invisible restraints, multiple hands all working at once, well hidden kinks explored with a ghoul with seemingly no limits and infinite experience. 

Sometimes she was the size of a doll, trapped in a haunted doll house lined with black and white wallpaper. Every corner held a scare, every creature more grotesque than the last, until brown sludge seeped from the floorboards and dared to drown her. His cackling would shake the sludge, pulling her under, her lungs filling with thick pollution.

Sometimes, she dreamt of taming the great beast. Quiet tender moments, domesticated with a twist. It plays like a sitcom; she washes a dish and pulls it from the water, seeing it was actually his severed head. They laugh together and she holds his cheeks in her hands and kisses the moss on his forehead before snapping his head back to his body. She would mention a coworker that neglected to invite _only_ her to the gathering she didn’t want to attend, but insists it would be common curtesy anyway. The next day, that same coworker would arrive late to work with hair snow white from fright and she would thank him later in the evening in the cover of candle light. 

Over time, Lydia wasn’t sure which kind of dream she hated more. 

—

The gift granted on her 19th birthday was better than what Lydia received a year prior.

“Pumpkin, Daddy landed a big contract. Delia and I decided to let you live here with the Maitlands while we relocate to Florida for a year!”

Daddy’s money, while Lydia never asked for it, was finally coming in handy. He would pay the bills, he would send her money to grocery shop, or better yet, pay someone to shop for her. A trust she could access via her own card granted by father dearest would set her up on the path to success as an adult.

“And if all goes well with the contract, we’ll move to Florida and set up this house in your name! We’re more than happy to support you dear, at least until you find your own path.” Delia, having grew a soft edge since the events all those years ago, spoke the truth. 

Lydia thanked her father and step mother with a tight hug. 

Adam and Barbara were thrilled with the news, promising to keep Lydia safe while respecting her space as a newfound young adult. Adam was quick to pull out the board games collecting dust in the still untouched attic. 

The arrangements were set, and before Lydia could reminisce on the time, her parents were out the door, and the house was hers to rule. 

Her new card, linked to the account her father would be funnelling money into, went to work in furnishing her space. Greyscale decor, blackout curtains, and white accents began to appear until the living room truly read as Lydia’s space. 

It had taken many weeks and more bottles of wine to realize _just_ how many of her decor selections resembled his getup. 

—

The master bedroom, black as night and dry as paint can be, was finally ready to receive her. Lydia moved her four poster with the aid of her ghostly pals, switching up the old fabric for layers of tulle. Her centrepiece complete, Lydia moved armfuls of clothing down the hall at a time. 

With an echoing swoop, a bustle of red fabric fell from the void. 

Lydia locked her eyes on her old wedding dress, balled at her feet. Only when she became lightheaded did she realize she had been holding her breath. 

Slowly, Lydia crouched, using the caution of a cat to move as the dress was alive and ready to attack. Yet when she grabbed it, the material stayed limp and compliant as she lifted and shook it out. Despite being discarded and abandoned in the dark war zone of her closet, it showed no wrinkles. 

Bad memories always came first. The pain of seeing Adam and Barbara nearly exorcised, the way he gripped her arms, how his hand was ice along her mouth and left her with the taste of dirt and decay. 

Still... there was good. Lydia had to believe that now, or she may slip, and be delivered to the arms of the ghost himself. The thought of ending her life didn’t bother her, it was being forced to see him when she wasn’t ready that made her back out. 

The dress... it was beautiful. In a strange and unusual kind of way. 

Lydia settled on folding the dress up as tight as she could, placing it in a rain boot shoebox and slid it to the back of her new closet.

—

“We’ll be back as soon as we can, sweetie.” Barbara held Lydia, absorbing the heat from her living body. 

“We’re really sorry, Lydia, we totally forgot we had to meet with Juno for our yearly evaluation.” Adam followed Barbara in hugging their surrogate daughter.

“I’ll be fine! When you get back, we can have that monopoly night.” Lydia saw her friends off to the drawn door in the attic, finding herself alone in her house for the first time. The foreign feeling was quickly replaced with comfort, Lydia finding her stride strong as she grabbed a little black box from under her bed. 

Popping open the lid, the smell of skunk quickly infected the room. Pulling out a finely wrapped joint, she lit the end and took a haul. Uncaring of the smell, she walked through to the kitchen, preparing herself some munchies so she could settle in for a few hours of horror filled cinema. 

The movie kept her occupied for awhile, but as the lull before the action hit, that little voice in the back of her head began to raise its volume.

_B E T E L G E U S E  
B E T E L G E U S E  
B E T E L G E U S E_

Lydia shook her head, as if to topple over whatever entity was pulling her strings. Her first joint long gone, she took another from the line on the table, and tried to settle once more. She had barely made it to the first kill when she stood. 

Lydia couldn’t recall the path she had taken to get there, but she stood in front of her full length mirror, lined with faux red marble and hung upon the gloomy grey wall. 

Before herself she stood, a joint hanging from her delicate pale fingers. Dark circles beneath her eyes; feminine’s of makeup that weren’t ready to part with her. Lydia looked down her body, truly seeing the curvature of her body for the first time. No... no, she wasn’t that frightened 13 year old anymore. Not quite a real adult, but definitely not a child.

Lydia’s form was normal, yet her mind was the landscape for madness. The contract had been right; she was drawn to him, desired to call him, perhaps even missed his presence. Her soul had been sold, and life would never be normal as she had dreamed it would be in her youth. She knew making a new normal was the only way to keep her sanity. 

_F I R S T C A L L_  
B E H I N D G L A S S  
_S A Y I T_ **S A Y I T** _**S A Y I T**_

Was she ready? It had been... six years? Seven? Lydia couldn’t recall, the only memories she had of that time were blurs of colour, with tendrils of black ink pulsating over the details. Could she look the beast in the eye and convince him to call a truce?

_B E T E L G E U S E_

Divorce? Out of the question. Fighting him? No way she’d win that one. Suicide? Nope, clause 78.4 had that one covered. Get him exorcised? He might be a horrible guy, but seeing what Adam and Barbara suffered through? She couldn’t imagine doing it to her worst enemy, not even someone like him. No, there was no way out, only through. Lydia saw one option, one she hoped wasn’t a gargantuan mistake, because it was her damn hail mary.

_B E T E L G E U S E_

This would require a certain tact, a skill Lydia wasn’t sure she had. She’d have to calm him down, which was easier compared to having a level conversation with a ghost... _the ghost_. With the most. What else could she do?

Well, desperation can lead to quick results.

“Betelgeuse.”

Lydia no longer saw herself in the mirror, but rather the ghoul of the hour.


	2. Let’s Strike a Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some weird formatting at the end, i’ve attempted to fix it multiple times but i can’t find where it’s messed up so sorry about that!

Lydia kept her breathe even, as quiet as a whisper, watching him tap at his chest and head spin around. She saw him find his bearings, his eyes finally locking onto her own. 

Betelgeuse _growled_. 

“ _ **YOU**_.” His finger pressed from the other side of the glass, Lydia was able to feel it against her chest. 

Lydia swallowed the pebble in her throat. Before she could find her voice, he was at it again. 

“Got real **nerve** , callin’ me after all the shit ya put me through. God damn witch doctor bullshit, my shit was messed up for _days_ Doesn’t bode well for the marriage, sugar tits. Speakin’ of, **congrats** on growin’ a pair. Last time I saw ya, ‘r as flat as a board.”

“I was thirteen!” Lydia scoffed. The fear she had once felt within his presence was gone. Surely a symptom of the binding contract, some part her advancement in age since last they met, and even a sliver of trauma that rendered fear ineffective on her soul.

“And look at ya now, pas-t ‘ur prime.”

“I’ve called you up and _you’re_ throwing around insults? Not even ready to hear the offer, huh?”

“Like we could do business after that stunt-“

“Not business,” Lydia swallowed a fleeting wave of nausea “, pleasure? Maybe, best case scenario.”

“Look at this little _ACT _-ress go! Woo, lay it on me, **baby**! I’m hopin’ for a _nude_ scene.”__

__“Are you finished?”_ _

__“Babes, I’m just gettin’ _started_. What makes ya think I even wanna see _you_ , eh? Feedin’ me to sandworms and shit. **Me**! Your own husband. You really know how to make a fella feel un- _wanted_.”_ _

__“Barbara fed you to the sandworm, I had nothing to do with that.”_ _

__“As if you **weren’t** just _itchin’_ for her to save the day.”_ _

__“Feel free to keep bitching, let me know when you’re ready to talk.” Lydia lifted the still burning joint to her lips, casting a puff of smoke against the mirror’s surface._ _

__“Talk? Nuh uh, **doll** face, I’m _outta_ here.” Betelgeuse turned, ready to pull himself from the closed window to the Outerworld. _ _

__“You’re not going anywhere until we talk!” Lydia stood her ground, banging on the glass in anger._ _

__Betelgeuse cackled, making a pit stop to literally point and laugh at her. When he gripped the inner edges of the mirror and yanked, he found himself knocked back, unable to juice his way out._ _

__“The _fuck_...”_ _

__“Clause 83.8, incantation _control_.”_ _

__Lydia savoured the delicious way Betelgeuse froze, eyes nearly popping from his head._ _

__“Start talkin’, ya gothed out _bitch_.”_ _

__Hey, gothed out bitch was better than sugar tits, in Lydia’s professional opinion._ _

__“I’m going to guess you didn’t get our marriage contract, _husband dearest_.”_ _

__Betelgeuse blinked at her; once, twice, then steam shot from his ears. His hands were quick to clasp over them, steam rerouting through his nostrils. Another place, another time, Lydia may have laughed._ _

__“Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” Lydia offered “, and it’s... comprehensive, to say the least.”_ _

__“Bureaucratic red tape mother **fuckers**... so THAT’S why I’ve been battin’ zero at Dante’s.”_ _

__Lydia clasped the joint within her lips, making a quick trip to the living room. Pulling the contract from the lower ledge of the coffee table, she returned, waving the book in his line of sight. The sight of the leather bound contract made Betelgeuse gag._ _

__“You _really_ didn’t know?” Lydia cocked her hip, the book resting perfectly within her hand._ _

__“Not about that **particular** contract. Someone musta saw my name ‘n the paper and decided it’d be fun to get one over on the ghost with the most.”_ _

__“You sound like a conceited asshole when you call yourself that.”_ _

__“ **HEY** -“_ _

__“Oh, _hey_ yourself, I’ve earned some potshots,” Betelgeuse growled, but contested no further, so Lydia continued. “What is it about this particular contract?”_ _

__“Started as a **joke** in the Office of Pre/Post Relations, bindin’ it like it’s the damn Necronomicon. Ya know, ‘cause the horrors of _marriage_ , yadda yadda.”_ _

__“You’re shitting me, **the** Necro- _wait, it’s human flesh_?”_ _

__“Quite the _smart_ little gal you are, babes. I know how’t pick ‘em.”_ _

__Once upon a time, she would have dropped the book in horror and disgust, letting out a taste of the scream queen within. Now well beyond suspending all knowledge and belief, Lydia made a brief cathartic face of disgust, refreshing herself for the uphill sprint._ _

__Lydia ducked from the mirror once more, dragging the stool closest to her over to the mirror. Getting comfortable, she crossed her legs and opened the contract._ _

__“I checked for loopholes once, maybe you’ll see something I can’t.”_ _

__—_ _

__Turns out Betelgeuse’s time in the bureau was helpful, yet not in the way Lydia had hopped. She dictated the contract, looking to him at any possible turn, then sighed when he would shake his head; negatory. Lydia was certain the only reason he was being half cooperative was because his ass was on the line too._ _

___‘He’s looking out for number one, cater to that part of him._ _ _

__The last page had been flipped, the back cover slapped against the parchment._ _

__“Nothing?” Lydia glances at the clock; two a.m._ _

__“Nadda, zilch... ‘ey, that _contract_ , was it signed by Percilla Marione? I did her _real_ dirty in the thirties, this has her name written **ALL** over it.”_ _

__“Who did it isn’t important,” Lydia had already heard enough of his anecdotal stories for one lifetime “, it’s what we do about it now.”_ _

__For the first time Lydia had witnessed, he was speechless._ _

__“Bee,” Lydia stopped to think, her eyes trained on her black socks “, uh, just B. I _didn’t_ ask for this.” Her voice rested above a whisper. The bold, daring wit she wore before looking through that book long gone. Fractures of her shell clinked upon the floor, leaving behind a mass of tender flesh. _ _

__“ _You_ think you got the short end? I didn’t even get what was promised ta’ **ME**.”_ _

__Lydia found herself looking him dead in the eye, her face void of all expression._ _

__“You _owe_ me, you are in _my_ debt. I want a deal and I want more than just your word, because we both know it isn’t worth anything.”_ _

__“My _w-o-r-d_ ain’t worth nothin’? Comin’ from the broad who woulda **backed** outta our deal.”_ _

__Lydia took a breath._ _

__“You _robbed_ me of a life. I got stuck in a marriage, with someone who _used_ me when I was young and weak, a _supernatural_ marriage that leaves me wanting you no matter how much I fight. You don’t **get** anything else, you’ve taken all there is to have. If this contract keeps us locked together for the foreseeable infinity, I plan on making it work to my damn benefit.”_ _

__“And how ya plan on swingin’ that one, babes? That little leash you got me on’s gonna snap some day.”_ _

__“Do you remember telling me you don’t have any rules? All fine and good, but seeing as you’re my eternally bonded husband, I’m saying _we_ have rules. I want to try to find some middle ground.”_ _

__“ **OH** , cry me a fuckin’ river! All that possession permission shit? Rolls off my shoulders, kid, not my problem. Just ignore it and we can part ways and pretend none of this ever happened, plenty a’options.”_ _

__“There are _no_ options, only one solution, and I want to do it my way and exhaust it before trying yours.”_ _

__“Why the fuck, there’s always more than one-“_ _

__“Because I **need** this!” Lydia yelled. She stood with such vigour, the contract hit the floor and slid halfway across the room. Her fingers to the glass, she stepped close until her breath fogged the surface. _ _

__“Meeting you? Even the Maitlands’! I had to swallow that death _wasn’t_ an escape. I had proof that time wasn’t a line with a clear end, it’s a fucking Möbius strip, and I can’t _bare_ the thought that I’ll feel shitty **forever**. I’m putting in years of suffering and I won’t see... _any_ payoff. I need this, B. I need to make something... to _have_ something that’s mine. My choice, my preference.”_ _

__“Just _what_ makes ya think I’m gonna play along with ‘yer little **rules**?”_ _

__“Because I’ll let you out, and if you help make and follow them, I’ll let you stay out.”_ _

__“Talk’s cheap, Babes. Let’s see some action.”_ _

__“Betelgeuse.” Lydia spoke clearly._ _

__That called his attention. Still behind the glass, but palms pressed to the reverse of the mirror. Had it always felt like that? Betelgeuse grumbled; _possession permissions, ya **know** I hate ‘em.__ _

__“Well?”_ _

___‘He’s under your control, it’s safe.’_ _ _

__“Betelgeuse.”_ _

__A puff of smoke appeared beside her, dissipating nearly as quick as it arrived. There he stood, his form reading at 75% transparency._ _

__He was quick to move to her living room nest, his fingers going through the table as he went to pick up a joint._ _

__“Wanna hit me _one_ more time, babes?”_ _

__“Not yet,” Lydia took a haul from her joint “, but come here, I think this’ll work.”_ _

__Another drag added to her already filled lungs, she blew bellows of smoke into the ghost’s face. It seemed to satiate him for the time being._ _

__“Your Outerworld shit is... well, shit.”_ _

__“There’s Netherworld-“_ _

__“There’s Netherworld **ev-er-y-thing** , babes.”_ _

__“We can trade fun facts later, let’s talk rules.”_ _

__—_ _

__Five a.m. had come quickly, the list of rules had not. Crumpled balls of paper littered the floor, all with varying degrees of rough notes and scratches._ _

__Two pages sat upon her coffee table._ _

__“I think we did it.” Lydia rubbed at her eyes, taking the last overly sweet swig from her chilled mug of coffee._ _

__“Thank **fuck**.”_ _

__Lydia picked up one page, her eyes skimming the contents, presented in her unique script._ _

__**Rules for Betelgeuse  
1\. No being an asshole to Lydia  
2\. Do nothing that can bring negative consequences or a bad reputation to Lydia  
3\. ACTUALLY spend time with Lydia when she requests it/ LEAVE Lydia alone when she requests it  
4\. No interfering with Lydia’s life without explicit consent from Lydia ** _ _

__“That all sound good to you?” She asked, desperately holding a yawn within her throat._ _

__“Don’t **got** much choice.”_ _

__**Rules for Lydia**  
1\. No censoring Betelgeuse’s personality  
2\. Make no attempt to change Betelgeuse  
3\. Let Betelgeuse let off steam  
4\. Keep an open mind about letting the ghost in your pants __

____“Yeaaah... I didn’t write that last one.”_ _ _ _

__

__“I added it. You said collaborative effort, and if we’re strapped for the long haul-“_ _

__

__“Fine, it’s on the list, I can’t argue specifics anymore. I agree to these, you agree to those. We got a deal or what?”_ _

__

__Betelgeuse grumbled, but shrugged, mostly to himself. He spat in his hand with a thick cough, extending it out in the universal sealing of a contract._ _

__

__Lydia cringed at the thick wad of discoloured phlegm dripping from his palm. He sighed dramatically, wiping his hand on his hand pants before extending once more. This time, she took it._ _

__

__Lydia had no doubt he would stick to the rules, at least as much as one like him could. After all, his freedom depended on it._ _

__

__“Seein’ as we got all _that_ outta the way,” Betelgeuse adjusted his black jacket, dust rolling off as he shook “, why don’t you let me out and I’ll show ya what your hubby here is **packin’**.” _ _

__

__Lydia laughed._ _

__

__“Yeah, no, but you can hang around for a bit if you want.” Lydia yawned, placing the papers neatly atop another and slid them to the centre of the coffee table._ _

__

__Wth a few clicks of the remote, she settled on a satirical homage slasher horror movie as soft background noise. Finally she returned to the position she had been ibefore, curled in her blankets upon her couch._ _

__

__“Movies? How _living_ of you.”_ _

__

__“It’s got a severed head turned into a jack o’lantern in the first ten minutes.”_ _

__

__“ **ALWAYS** open with info like that!”_ _

__

__The first night of the truce was a success, the pair watching the film at a respectable distance apart. They bonded with laughter at over the top gore and perfectly cheesy twists and turns the movie cast before them._ _

__


	3. A Series of Moments

Lydia took a deep breath, stretching her limbs and rubbing her eyes with balled fists. No sounds to be heard other than the soft mumblings through the television long forgotten. 

Her eyes opened, meeting the sight of her haunting husband hovering above her. Far from prepared, Lydia jumped just slightly, earning a shit eating smirk from Betelgeuse.

“Ya know, ya snore reaaaal loud for such a little lady.”

“Off to great start, I see.” Lydia rubbed her eyes once more before sitting up, straightening out her pyjama top and throwing her hair up until she could manage to get to the shower. 

“Maybe I’m in such a bad mood ‘cause someONE didn’t let me out like they promised after we made those dumb fuckin’ rules.”

“... I did promise that. Sorry, my bad.”

“Just give it the ol’ two three punch and I’ll let ya slide this time. Anythin’ fer the missus.”

Lydia shot him a deadpan look, earning an even wider shit eating grin than before. 

“Betelgeuse.”

“That’s a’one.”

“Betelgeuse.”

“And a’two.”

“Be-“ Lydia felt the word stick within her throat. The last time she had done this...

Betelgeuse sighed, scratching at his head. Opening his mouth and waving his hands, just to manage half a syllable before twitching and starting over again. Finally he took a breath, holding his hands out and closing his eyes. Sitting down beside her, Betelgeuse threw an arm around her shoulders for show, his form still lacking the physicality. 

“Listen, baby , I get it. The last show didn’t go according to _your_ plan. Now that I think of it,” he snorted a laugh “, didn’t go my way either. Don’t let that make ya leave before the encore. Ya haven’t even seen my _best_ work.” His tone wasn’t one of chaps, but provocation and seduction. Lydia rilled her eyes. 

Betelgeuse growled. 

“Ya know, wouldn’t usually point this out but... if ya find me doin somethin’ ya really hate? Real simple solve. I pegged ya fer a sm’rt one.”

“What do you-“

“Just. Send. Me. Back.” He flicked her forehead with the final syllable.

Well shit, maybe he had made a mistake pegging her for a smart one. 

“I remember Barbara trying that-“

“And I can’t do any of the sort to ya, read that fer yer’self in the contract. Only juice a’mine that’ll work on ya is stuff ya want.”

Lydia looked into his eyes, wanting to see the gears churning out a scheme or that familiar evil leer within his eyes. But she didn’t see anything of the sort. Instead, she saw was him, not quite a man, but not the full blown evil entity she had considered him all these years. 

So, he was capable of human moments.

Lydia gave him was he desired, speaking his name three times rapidly. The change wasn’t fantastic, hardly the circus he created when they first had this experience. 

His faded form grew solid, the arm around her shoulder became a tangible weight upon her. The smell of moss, dirt, and faint rot met her nose at four fold, yet she didn’t feel the desire to recoil. Instead, what was truly a smell, seemed to Lydia like a scent; a perfume made exclusively for Betelgeuse in all his disgusting glory. 

“Now see? Wasn’t so bad, eh? Whadaya think, babes?” Betelgeuse stood and performed a spin, dust and debris flinging from his coat tails.

“You look the same, but opaque.”

With that, his scrunched his face up at her. 

“Opaque, solid, not transparent.”

He slapped his forehead, another snorting laughter tumbling from his dirty lips. 

“Been ‘round so long, ya ferget’ what words mean if ya haven’t heard ‘em in a couple centuries.”

Lydia smiled at that, and when she realized she was smiling, she let her face fall back to her usual blank expression. Lydia looked to the grandfather clock, letting out a languid sigh. 

“Guess noon ain’t too late for breakfast.”

—

“Where _are_ the ol’ chain ‘n balls?” Betelgeuse was a curious soul, even while picking at the black gunk under his jagged nails. His groping at himself upon saying one of his top ten favourite words wasn’t lost on Lydia, either. 

“Annual review, whatever that entails. Those appointments usually take them out for awhile.” Lydia kept up the conversation, whisking some eggs for an omelette de’Lydia. 

“Gack! Reviews, disgustin’ little things.”

“No doubt, but you owe ‘em one, considering there was no way I was calling you up with Barb and Adam around.”

“Babs still pissed?”

“Livid, and I don’t blame them, with what you did.” Lydia tossed her remark over her shoulder, her body busy with trying to reach the dill weed. Lifted upon her toes, her fingers fell just shy of the herb. 

Then, it slid forward into her hand.

Lowering herself, Lydia rolled the glass cylinder within her palm before turning to him. 

“Thanks.” Lydia meant it. Betelgeuse simply waved his hand in response.   
—

“‘M bored.”

“You’ve been here half a day and you’re bored already?”

“I’m just sayin’, I’ve been hangin’’round my wife fer half a day and I still ain’t seen her naked. What kind of jip is that? Some bullshit, f’ya ask me.”

“Hey, I’m following the rules by keeping an open mind about it! Forgive me if I’m not ready to ride you like a bronco after knowing you for a total of twenty four hours in my entire life.”

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. 

“Bee, please tell me you know that marriage doesn’t mean you-“

“I KNOOOOW, just be nice considerin’ yer husband is achin’ over here and has been for years. What’s a guy gotta do to get ya in the sheets?”

Lydia rubbed her temples. 

“That’s not an easy question to answer,” Lydia held up her hand before he could argue “, but I’ll let you know if you end up on the right track.”

Betelgeuse continued to grumble for twenty minutes, muttering about titties this and blue balls that, before Lydia shot him a look.

“If you _promise_ it will shut you up,” Lydia took a breath “, I’ll let you take one, and I’m so serious when I say one, pair of my underwear to do whatever you like with until I’m ready for anything like that with you.”

Until, not if. Lydia kept her struggle internal, trying to swallow it as best she could, knowing those damned permission were to blame.

She wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea, but she didn’t need to know him longer than a day to know what makes an appealing bribe to the ghost with the most. If it didn’t get him to can it forever, it would probably buy her a month... or whenever he came skulking asking for another pair. 

“Make ‘em dirty panties babes and ya got one hell of a deal.”

“Done.”

Lydia supervised Betelgeuse as he dug threw her hamper. Pulling a purple lace number from halfway down the basket, she let him have it. She was glad he set his sights on a cheaper pair, one purchased on impulse when first exploring lingerie. Not that Betelgeuse needed to know right now, but Lydia had taken to wearing sexy slinky pieces of lace beneath whatever she was wearing. Her own hidden secret, one that made her feel confident and powerful.

“Ya sure know how to make a fella happy.” He took a deep whiff off her panties, holding them against his face, as if attempting to chloroform himself within her scent. 

“Wouldn’t be a good wife if I couldn’t, I guess. Oh, and if you’ve got immediate plans for those, go back to the neitherworld.”

With a wink, Betelgeuse disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

—

With the few hours of silence she was granted, Lydia was keen to use it wisely. Showering, tidying up, vacuuming the never ending particles of dirt left behind by hers truly.

It gave her time to think; something dangerous for the likes of Lydia Deetz, who already lived within her head far more than one should. 

She thought it hadn’t been bad, so far. The small period of time, embarrassingly insignificant in the time they would share, was enough to give her hope. If the permissions were going to sway her mind and body anyway, she was determined to make her brain see the bright side.

In the time they shared thus far, Lydia knew he had the capacity to make her laugh. She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself as she dusted the mirror Betelgeuse emerged from the night before, thinking of a character who isn’t bad, she was simply drawn that way. 

**Seriously, what do you see in that guy?**   
_He makes me laugh._

Lydia didn’t mind the paranormal sway making her laugh at his crude jokes, or even enjoying the smell of pure death. What she did mind was the ever present tingle within her since finally being in the same room as him. While just having entered the doorway of adulthood, Lydia wasn’t uneducated. She knew the value of self exploration, learning how her body responds as to better inform her partner on all the buttons to push. It bothered her to think- no, it bothered her to _know_ that someday, she would succumb to the base primal urge and she would enjoy every second of it because of the invisible strings pulling her along like a marionette. 

A guy with years of experience on both sides of the long walk? She could only hope that, when she could no longer fight the need to throw herself at him, he had some bite to go with that awfully boisterous bark.

—

As day four of not seeing Betelgeuse dawned, Lydia realized that’s sending him through the celestial plane was likely not the move. 

The ache in her heart was soft, yet ever present. Her food lacked flavour, her sleep lacked rest. No matter how she arranged herself, she couldn’t feel comfortable. A pain, the head of a pin in size, kept prodding. 

Lydia couldn’t call him back; she had sent him there for a reason. It would be downright rude to summon him, knowing he was having a hot date with her lacy thong. How the hell did she keep forgetting that time was an absolute mystery in the world below?

She squinted at the metal cigarette case, lined with finely rolled joints, then to the generously stocked bar with many of the bottles half full. 

Whatever thoughts she would have disappeared, a soft whoosh calling her eyes to the mirror. 

The relief in her bones when she laid her eyes on Betelgeuse was immediate. 

“Hey.” _Jesus, is that what I sound like?_

“See ya didn’t get into ANY trouble without me! Abso-fuckin-lutely ze-RO fun to be had at the ol’ Geuse manor.”

“I never agreed to take any part of your name,” Lydia snorted “, been a few days for me.”

“Ah shit, didn’t mean ta’ take long. Had some shit I had to do.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. 

“Aye, aye! What’s with the look? Yer the one who-ya **know** what, never mind. Always said I wasn’t gonna be _that_ kinda husband. I’ll have ya know while you were practicin’ that gorgeous eye roll of yers, I was gettin’ gifts.” Betelgeuse threw up his hands before producing a large black box from the bottomless pit that was his inner coat pocket. 

“Gifts? Like... for me?”

“Mhmm, bet yer feelin’ foolish over there, babes.”

“Uh-well, thank you?”

“Is that really enough you earn yer presents back? Why don’t ya give yer man some sugar.” He tapped his cheek with a dirty finger, waggling his eyebrows at her. 

Lydia took a rain check on the sugar, offering a middle finger as a placeholder. 

“Good ‘nuff, baby! Why don’t ya open this and tell me how happy ya are.” He tossed the box into her hands. Lydia felt the weight before pulling the lid away. 

A silver bottle, dressed in a crudely drawn skull and crossbones label and two sticks of a pungent substance wrapped in lavender paper.

“Is this-“ Lydia was promptly cut off. 

“Some neitherworld treasures. May be a gift, but it’d be nice if ya shared.” He gave a wink and jumped down beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. 

“This is... _actually_ really cool,” Lydia mused, picking up the bottle and examining it in the light. Luminescent green glimmered through the cracks in the silver glass, catching the light in a way that reflecting the colour against her eyes, “, thank you.”

Betelgeuse scoffed and snorted, adjusting the location of his ass upon the couch by millimetres at a time. 

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Nuff with all that, let’s get fucked up.”

The liquid stayed bottled, making a beautiful centrepiece on the main bar shelf. The otherworldly herb, on the other hand, began to burn before she even returned to the couch. 

Hours? No, seconds... minutes? Lydia couldn’t be certain how much time had passed, being locked into the couch with her personal poltergeist. 

Lydia felt the silence within the room. It left her weightless, drifting in a sea of stars all her own. The jabbering of her mind quiet, her inner critic resting soundly, her soul felt free of the weight that comes with being alive. Not chilled, not warm; if she focused, she could ignore the beating of her heart. Death is silence... peace. 

A snap brought Lydia’s eyelids slowly drifting up. 

“Doin’ alright over there?”

“Mhmm... just enjoying the peace.” Lydia crossed her hands upon one another, resting upon her stomach. Betelgeuse ran his calloused hand along the calves resting on his lap. 

“Get ya a bouquet a’ dead roses and y’d look like one _fine_ centrefold Inferno gal.”

“Dunno what that is.” Lydia sighed, gently digging her heels into his thighs. Betelgeuse didn’t complain, the soothing circles of his thumb upon her ankle encouraged her further. 

“Sexiest damn ladies in all the Neitherworld.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment then.” Lydia laughed, her voice hushed, teetering on the edge of total tranquility. 

“Say,” Lydia spoke once more “, you remember much? Like, from when you were alive?”

“Can’t say I do. Lotta time... didn’t have any of this fancy shit when I was, can say that fer’sure.” Betelgeuse gestured to the television, then the stereo. 

“Middle ages?”

“Survived the black plague, I know that! The gallows? Not so much.”

“So, you remember how you died but not how you lived?”

“‘Memberin’ how ya go is part of the deal. E-tern-al suffering in death, baby, thems the breaks.”

“Ehh, at least it’s consistent. Living is more of the same.” 

“Still the sardonic misery chick I fell fer, babes.”

Lydia barked out a laugh, her eyes opening just enough to see Betelgeuse gesturing; “What’d I say?”

“Fell for, now that’s hilarious. Tell another one, Bee.”

“Ah, fuck ya, if that’s how yer gonna be.”

“Oh, fuck _you_ if that’s how _you’re_ going to be. You saw an opportunity and you took it, I don’t hold it-“

“Nah, nah, now hold the fuck on. Ya don’t know _shit_ about my **shit**.”

“Enlighten me when you’re done throwing a hissy fit.”

“HISSY- I spent months watchin’ ya! Watch ya storm up to the attic when _daddy_ sent ya away, when that two bit sculptor wanted to get rid of ya. I watched over ya, I learned shit about ya, I know ya better than ya even dare to dream.”

Lydia sat up, forcing her inebriated self to focus on him. He was... angry. Really angry that she would even dare...

“I’m sorry... I _obviously_ didn’t know all that, but you can’t get mad at me for finding it hard to believe.”

Betelgeuse snarled, more towards himself than Lydia. 

“Fine, fine. Just don’t go makin’ assumptions about me, ‘kay? Little early in the marriage to be doin’ that shit.”

“Fair enough,” Lydia bumped his hand with her foot “, and I’m not a _misery chick_. I’m just a realist.”

“A real-isT who believes in the supernatural? What a _trip_.”

“Not a belief, I know it to be real. Therefore, realist.”Lydia flopped back down, her eyes closing, drifting off to sleep to the sounds of Betelgeuse channel surfing. 

—

It was dark when she opened her eyes. 

“How long have I been asleep?” Lydia yawned, still feeling Betelgeuse beneath her legs. 

“Thirty two hours.”

“ **What**?”

“Neitherworld shit is strong, babes,” Betelgeuse cocked his head towards her “, didn’t I mention that?”

“Like I’d be able to remember,” Lydia sat up, scratching her head “, _fuck, I’m starving_.”

“Here.” Betelgeuse mumbled, hands fumbling in his pockets before making a happy sound. He tossed two large roaches into her lap. Lydia scrunched her nose, careful to pick up the insects, jarred by their sudden trip through the air. 

“I was thinking more along the lines of pizza.” Lydia found her strength, able to make her relaxed muscles move her to the window. Opening the glass, she let the small creatures return to nature. 

—

Grocery shopping served more like entertainment when Betelgeuse was involved. Getting him prepared to go anywhere beyond her home was akin to getting a child organized; barely feasible, even for the most skilled of guardians. The trouble seemed to be worth it, Lydia thought, as Betelgeuse lurked behind her. 

“Jesus, look’t _that_ sorry display.” Betelgeuse pointed to a man, the same one that had given Lydia a questioning look for her attire as she entered the aisle. He was weighing two jars of jam within his hands, eyes wandering to give Lydia a look, as if gauging her location, waiting for the alternative (and therefore, criminal) lady to strike. 

“Watch this, babes.” Betelgeuse pointed a finger at the man. 

One of the jam jars exploded, glass shattering to his feet. Raspberry jam, dripping along light scrapes in his palm. The man let out a scream the likes of a seven year old girl. 

Lydia bit her cheek to hold in a laugh. 

That was all it took. Suddenly, Betelgeuse was off to the races, inconveniencing anyone that dared look at Lydia with anything beneath wild indifference. The pool of victims never seemed to run dry; the boringly conventional folks of Winter River unable to keep their nasty looks to themselves. 

Finally emerging with a cart of groceries in tow, she unloaded the bags into the trunk of her car, making sure the bags her spectral spouse lifted remained beyond the sight lines of the other shoppers. 

“Keep doing this stuff when I go places and I’m going to get burned for witch craft.” Lydia chuckled, her eyes casting up to the ghoul that towered a good foot above her. 

“Ya know, fire wasn’t how they killed witches. Mostly drownings... oh, and some dude that got crushed by rocks. Kept askin’ the folks to put more weight on ‘im. Cool dude, bought him a beer.”

Lydia blinked at him. 

“What? I know things.” Betelgeuse shrugged, closing her trunk with a wave of his hand. 

—

Lydia flipped through her photographs, her expression growing longer with each one. They lacked the spark, she didn’t _feel_ the story she so desired to tell. Betelgeuse peaked over her shoulder. 

“Lookin’ good.” Lydia knew he meant well, _really_. Still, something about his simple boilerplate compliment left her seething. 

Lydia gripped the stack of pictures within firm fists and ripped them in half. Her fingers kept working until confetti sized pieces of glossy paper speckled her thighs. 

“I can find thousands of pictures just like them on the internet,” Lydia rubbed her face “, they’re all terrible.” _I’m terrible._

“If ya wanted **unique** , ya just had to ask! Grab yer camera, ‘nd that light, and follow me.”

Betelgeuse led Lydia to the attic. She wondered if he felt the same energy, being in this room together again. The place they met. Betelgeuse fumbled with the light, taking a delicate care Lydia didn’t know he had, making sure his scene was perfect. 

Perfect for her. 

Lydia watched him with a careful gaze, a hand firmly placed on a cocked hip. A ghost of a smile dared to pull at her lips. 

“Alrighty! Put me where ya want me.” Betelgeuse held out his arms and spun with a flair. A sharp exhale of air bursted from her nostrils before she took the reigns. Whatever shape she asked him, he was able to replicate it just as it was in her mind. 

Lydia expected him to grow tired after a few snapshots, but Betelgeuse loved the camera. Who knew?

“Awesome,” a final click rang from her camera “, one of these has _got_ to turn out. Thanks, Bee.”

“Gimmie a cut when yer work is makin’ millions, ‘nd we call ‘er even.”

“Momma taught me not to make deals with demons.” Lydia smirked. 

“ACK! Demons, borin’ fuckers. One trick ponies.” Betelgeuse spat his contempt, a thick loogie burning a hole into the weak attic floorboards. 

When Lydia developed the photos, more than one had turned out, leaving her satiated with her art. Her favourite hung in between two dripping wet photos; a lengthy shot, the attic looking a mile long. The end of the way is dark, yet the vague shape of a grinning, malicious face cutting through the shadow. One clawed, mangled hand scratching again the wooden floor. The photo screamed action, the creature poised perfectly for a vicious pounce. 

“What I tell ya? Lookin’ good, babes.” Betelgeuse came down from his hovering reclining to slap her shoulder. Lydia clasped a hand over his, just for a moment, before giving him a soft smile. 

—

It had taken two weeks, but Lydia finally felt she and her husband had fallen into a good routine. Not normalcy; normalcy with a twist. 

Lydia’s normalcy. 

Together, they decided to clear out the storage from her old bedroom, giving Betelgeuse his own space to do _whatever_ the hell he gets up to. He frequently checked the corners for webs and evidence of bugs, juicy little snacks, keeping her home pest free. The wonders of modern horror kept him entertained while she filled her sketchbook. 

Now that the dust had settled, the ball within her throat finally slid down her esophagus. The strange, foreign pull of mild possession blended into the background, serving as white noise to an otherwise normal day. Lydia hated herself less, at least where her emotions were concerned, able to let go of the tension she had been carting since calling him into her mirror. 

Silence between them ceased being awkward.

Betelgeuse never made mention of her nearly nocturnal schedule; it worked for him. He was a strong ghost, but anyone beyond the living would tell you nightfall can hone the supernatural. 

They found common ground in substances. Lydia stuck to her natural remedies, occasionally sharing hard spirits with her spirit, while Betelgeuse could be found doing whatever he could get his hands on. Every night marked another glass, another joint shared, another day done in the infinite string they had together. 

There once was a time when his name was synonymous with evil. One dimensional, a square, one thing and nothing more. Yet Betelgeuse was all personality, and the square quickly turned into a cube, the fine details fluttering to focus with ever passing interaction. The ghost was always scheming, Lydia took that as a given, and wouldn’t complain as long as she remained off limits. _But that personality..._.

Lydia couldn’t find a better word for it.

_Goofy._

She knew better, he wasn’t **all** goofy. He was plenty dangerous, terrifying... but now, they were on the same team. And a pretty good team they made.


	4. Reprised Series of Moments

Betelgeuse usually played his cons the same way. 

Be _just_ dumb enough. A dash of aloof to keep ‘em calm before diving in for the kill. By the time they see him for what he is, it’s already too late. 

He would’ve played Lydia the same way too, just like he had once before. One snag, and it was a big one; the fucking contract. What a kick to the **balls** that one was. 

If he could feel regret, he would have felt it over losing his cool when they reunited. A heads up would’ve been nice, maybe picked some nightshade or a nice bottle of wine. 

Well, he would’ve thought about a kind gesture of the sort. He figured that’s what mattered.

He was just so **fuckin’** angry. 

Betelgeuse had plenty of time to stew. One thing that could be said of him; he was a man of his word. Perhaps, sometimes, a tad too literally. Yet when Betelgeuse makes a promise, nothing short of hell or high water will stop the hurricane. To go through the **damn effort** to save the epitome of lower middle class convention, and even go above and beyond to make sure everyone was damn right frightened so they could live in marital peace!

And she tried to wiggle out of it, a fair deal; _fair ‘n square_.

He _thought_ he could trust her. Real fuckin’ dumb of him. The last moments played on a loop in his mind as he sat on the waiting room, head shrunk down to a fraction of its original size. Betelgeuse made for a good reader; maybe even saw a little of himself in the gothic gem within the sea of nauseatingly boring people. 

Disenfranchised, easily overlooked, and any potential she had quickly being snuffed out. Just like him. 

You see, no one else _gets it_. No one alive could give her the experiences she so desperately wished for, dreams she poured into her art, created in an attic where she felt free enough to be herself. Alone, but never quite. Betelgeuse cackled at the irony; some cultures would consider him a _guardian angel_. In a way, he was; he wasn’t getting any credit. In a way, he wasn’t; he _actually_ existed. 

Shit, he took a liking to her. So much that he didn’t even _expect_ recognition for the time he killed a man lurking around her home. All guts, no glory, a tale for another time. 

When he sees her standing there, all grown up but still with those damn doe eyes. That same bravery he saw god knows how long ago. 

Betelgeuse could see the toll time took, but that didn’t make her any less appealing. 

_What a **fuckin’** woman!_

Still, he was pissed. Once he let out the pent up aggression, it was gone as quick as it had arrived. Then, of all the things he could have done... _he made her laugh_. Granted, it was at him, but that’s just circumstance. 

He played with the boundaries she had, trying to figure out what made her tick. Their first encounter gave him enough, an entrance point. He needed to get back to the neither, tokens of courtship could serve his way in. He started safe; neitherworld necessities. Betelgeuse figures he _coulda_ just **asked** , but he preferred a flourish. 

That Lyds was one hot ticket, managing to surprise a damn near **ancient** dead guy. Offering herself up on a platter, showing her hand before going all in. 

Sometimes, being assumed as the worst guy in the room worked in your favour.

She didn’t seem interested in the otherworldly absinthe as a beverage, placing it with care upon her bar shelf. A stunning centrepiece, a place she made exclusively for this bottle he gifted her. As far as Betelgeuse was concerned, he was winning the girl.

Weed makes her chatty. Whatever, not a shocker to Betelgeuse. The substances he plays with are far more exotic. He entertained her questions to the best of his ability; Lydia could decide for herself if he was being truthful. 

It was a common misconception among people who knew of him, that Betelgeuse didn’t feel. 

Betelgeuse felt deeply, once. 

Maybe, he thinks. He couldn’t really remember.

Does it matter now? 

_Eh_ , he thinks. He isn’t quite sure if he can after such a betrayal like their **first** wedding. 

What was that saying he had heard? Bygones be bygones? Drop the stone? He preferred sweet revenge. 

But, it’s _Lyds_ , and hearing her laugh was a whole lot more interesting than hearing her scream and beg for apologies. **Especially** when she had laughed at the misfortunate man in the preserves and spreads aisle. 

Babe’s gotta **mean streak**. Talk about somethin’ we can work with. 

Different. It had been different. A grand feat for a guy who had seen most of what there was to see. What he intended to be a long con settled into something reminiscent of comfortable. She offered him sanctuary, a place to go if he got pissed off. The gesture seemed very _alive_ of her, still he accepted it with an awkward and fumbled thank you. 

It wasn’t bad, but Betelgeuse was finding it awfully boring. The passive role he had taken was wearing thin. Time to turn up the juice, see what shakes loose. 

**Showtime**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was weird i just wanted to try something different


	5. Turning Point

PART 2

Lydia held her breath, searching for reprieve with eyes long adjusted to the dark. A slow exhale, as quiet as possible, desperate to remain invisible. A crack of lightening; something in the corner? Just a shadow. 

Tipping toes skittered along the hardwood, carful to avoid the boards she knew to be creaky. Hands grip the doorframe, leaning to peak into the corridor; _clear_. Every feathered step, Lydia felt in her chest like an earthquake. The board beneath her feet would flutter, sending telltale vibrations crawling up her skin. She closed her eyes, moving like a snail with feline dexterity. All the weight had been shifted, she must make the gamble all over again. 

A thump. 

Lydia’s eyes cast to the stairs, the glow of the lit fireplace offering nothing to soothe her nerves. The source of the disruption was down there, as well as the prize.

Quiet, whispered voices began to pull her attentions. They came from within her skull, muttering intelligible rambles. Occasionally, they would blind to a phrase; _I can SEE you_ , **I can s m e l l your f e a r**. 

The air in the hallway grew cold. Her spine dared to quiver, the energy surrounding her suddenly shifting just one inch to the left. A hot, humid wind touched the back of her neck, dragging upwards along her flesh, becoming more focused until she felt lips surrounded with scruff directly against her ear. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her vocal wings may as well be clipped. 

_‘Scream, run, do something, DO SOME-‘_

“ _Got’cha._ ”

Hands, more than two, groped at her limbs. Her arms and legs were pinned in place, hands around her neck to keep her head tilted back. 

“Y’know the price, **babes**.”

Lydia found homeostasis, always wandering off course whenever she was exposed to his spectral abilities. With a few hard blinks, she fully grasped her position. 

She rolled her eyes. 

“So what? You won _one_ round and you cheated!” 

“Can’t beat a ghost in manhunt, babes, thems the facts. Now come **ON** , we made a deal.”

“Alright, fuck.” Lydia laughed, shaking his limbs away. When she turned to face him, he was already holding a full shot glass in his hand. She took the glass, liquor spilling onto her fingers, and tossed it back like a champion. Her face betrayed her, twisting as straight vodka made its way to her stomach. 

“Jesus, _warn_ a girl next time. Round two?”

“Yer **on**.”

—

Lydia woke up, running from the bed to her en suite, promptly emptying what remained in her stomach into the toilet bowl. 

“Not a drinker, eh? I get it, I’ve got jus’ tha thing fer ya.”

“I swear to god if you throw another bug at me, expecting me to _eat_ it-“

“Fuck, who pissed in your cereal?”

“You did, when you opened the texas mickey I had for decoration.”

“Ya always **fuckin’** do this, I’m standin’ here with a bottle a’water fer yer hung over ass-“

“Betelgeuse,” Lydia practically snarled, using his full name for the first time since the last time “, enough with the yelling. I get it, _please_ hand me the water.” She held out her hand, blindly grabbing, keeping her head firm to the toilet bowl. 

“No, I lied ‘bout the water. Got somethin’ better.”

“Be-“

A snap, and Lydia felt the soul return to her body. 

“A lil’ juice never harmed ‘nybody.”

Lydia lifted her clear, pain free head to shoot him a look. 

“Ya know what I mean.” He shrugged, hopping up on her vanity while she brushed brushed her teeth. 

“Weirdly enough,” Lydia mused “, I kinda do.”

It had become their thing. Betelgeuse lounged wherever she was, supervising as she picked out some clothes to lounge about on yet another lazy day. Betelgeuse didn’t mind that his wife was a homebody; as exciting as fucking shit up beyond the walls of home was, he felt he deserved a vacation. 

A slower paced life, ain’t that what marriage is?

—

It was supposed to be yet another day. Lydia had taken to painting in her makeshift studio, the walls lined with her best photographs for inspiration. Rough sketch after sketch came and went upon her canvas before giving into the ghost desperate to make idle chit chat. 

Not the pair for small talk, Lydia decided to bite the bullet when Betelgeuse asked what was rolling around inside her brain.

“You said once... that you watched me.” Lydia put her pencil down, turning herself fully to him.

“Mhmm.”

“What did you see?”

“Uh, cute little goth chick.”

“I-well, okay, you’re not wrong. I meant, what did you see after that? What was it about me?”

“Dunno. Pretty little piece, what size saw.” He snorted out a laugh.

“I don’t know either,” Lydia sat back “, I was just a kid.”

“Never gonna hear the end a **that** one. Why would I give a rat’s ass about age? S’bout longevity, longer yer alive, I c’n keep movin’ as I please-“

“Move _where_? You barely go to the neither and you’re **always** here with me in this small town!”

“The _fuck_ is with the third degree? I’m jus’ doin’ what _YOU_ laid out in yer fuckin’ rules. Question ain’t where I’m goin’, it’s why ya haven’t sent me away,” Betelgeuse leaned in, nearly pressed his nose to hers “, _if I really left ya **that** fuckin’ traumatized_.”

“You’re saying that as if you aren’t the majority of what’s _wrong_ with me. You preyed on me.”

“Ya made it easy. I told ya the deal-“

“I was THIRTEEN and I was watching my friends get exorcised! I would’ve agreed to anything, I had no other choice and you _knew_ it.”

“And **YOU** knew I was the _bad_ guy. Ya made a deal with the dead, the fuck did ya expect? This is on yer shoulders.”

Lydia rubbed her forehead. 

“You know, for a second, you had me convinced that there was something salvageable inside of you.”

“Well shit, doll **face** , say the magic words and I’ll be outta yer hair.”

And what? Call him back days later, the contract forever binding them making her weak until he was in her presence?

“And let you think you’ve won this argument? **Fuck** you, Betelgeuse.”

“ _Can’t_ do it, can ya. This lil outburst here, got me thinkin’...,” Betelgeuse strolled up, looking _down_ at her “, need a **tampon** , sweetums?”

Lydia blinked, taking a deep calming breath. She counted backwards from ten, letting the emotion naturally flow from her body. 

Lydia made it to seven seconds before throwing a right hook direct to his eye socket. 

Other than the mere force of impact turning his head, Betelgeuse cackled, remaining unaffected by her mortal fists. 

Grabbing the collar of his shirt, Lydia jabbed at his face. Her teeth clenched righter with every strike, his laughter growing so loud it dared to shake the foundation. 

Ripping the knife from his holster, a fashionable decoration akin to his several watches, she drove the blade into his chest. The aged dagger easily slipped into his dead flesh, his insides spilling out. Thick and freezing, his blood...

Lydia really _looked_ ; thick black tar oozed from his superficial wounds. 

Using her full force, she toppled him over, pinning him against the floor with the blade in his sternum and herself upon his gut. Lydia stabbed sharp, her fingers flipping down the hilt, butchering rough and jagged. 

Hands, stained with liquid red and dark ink. The pain in her fingers didn’t register, adrenaline grabbed the wheel a long time ago.

Betelgeuse kept laughing. 

It made her want to screech a battle cry, raise him from the dead, so she may wrap her hands around his throat until the twitching ceased. Lydia pulled the knife from his body and threw it against the wall, looking at the pile of ashes it burst into. She felt as if she was looking at her spirit, nothing but sand, waiting to be blown away. 

She heard a deep rumbling; he must be speaking. Lydia didn’t register the words, still fixated on that pile of sand. She knew she wasn’t missing much, he was likely attempting to goad her into some more violence. Betelgeuse probably needed the laugh. 

Lydia? She needed to hurt him. 

Lydia turned back to him, Betelgeuse still cackling. 

She placed her hands upon his chest, her hands pressing so hard they would bruise living skin. Leaning down, she watched Betelgeuse fall serious, his brow furrowing. She didn’t allow him the opportunity to speak; _this_ was her time. 

All teeth and rage, she pressed her lips to his. Lydia pushed her hips against his gut, surprised to find Betelgeuse’s thrashing body fell weak to her strength. She bit his lower lip, chomping nearly clean through, the same black tar smeared on their chests and staining their clothes filling their mouths. 

Betelgeuse’s hands dared to grab her hips. With vigour, Lydia gripped his wrists and spammed them above his head; a human man would’ve shattered his wrists beneath the woman’s rage. 

Such animalistic, primal emotion. She spat out the mouthful of gelatinous ink, just to drop herself back down to attack him more. 

Betelgeuse rolled with the punches; her teeth felt _devine_ while taking chunks of him. What he didn’t like was that he couldn’t move. He willed himself to flip her and take the upper hand, yet Lydia may as well have nailed his hands to the floor. 

When her lips came back down, he threw the idea to the back burner. He isn’t a guy to let a good thing go to waste. 

Lydia wiggled her hips down, finding a hardening mass beneath her. She rocked her hips over him, anchoring herself against his chest. His wrists were free, yet he still couldn’t move his hands. Betelgeuse snarled, about to complain, but forgot his train of through as Lydia’s fingers pulled at his belt. His pants were down; the dead had no need for undergarments. 

Lydia lifted her skirt, pulling her panties aside. She ignored how wet she was, chalking it up to the heat of the moment, happy to not waste time with unnecessary foreplay. Lining herself up, she sunk down on his thick cock, gasping when her ass fell flush against him

“Fuuuck-“

Lydia slapped him. 

“Shut the fuck up.” She growled, jabbing fingers into the open wounds on his chest while she rocked her hips. 

Betelgeuse felt his voice die within his throat. Any will he had to yell obscenities about his position died too, the pure heat encasing him, a sensation wildly foreign to him. Even if he could’ve spoken, the way her velvet insides contoured just for him would’ve killed him all over again.

In an act of dominance, she pushed her bleeding fingers into his mouth; concern of any infection could wait. Two fingers felt his tongue lapping at their mixed fluids, the rest of her digits driving her nails into his face. 

Lydia had experimented plenty as she aged, but it had _never_ felt like this. His cock was rubbing all the right places, perfect in girth and length. Pleasure surged from her stretched pussy, up her sides, all the way to the back of her neck. Every inch of flesh felt aflame with need. She groaned under her breath, her free hand finding her clit, rubbing just how she liked it, desperate to reach the crescendo of the electric surge within her. 

Betelgeuse was no better for wear. Unable to speak, scream, or warn her that if she kept this up he wouldn’t last; he pounded his heels against the floor. 

Lydia grinned at his desperation, forcing her fingers farther into his mouth. 

“This... is where I _own_ you.” Lydia spoke the first thing that came to mind, the wanton husk in her voice surprising even herself. 

Betelgeuse narrowed his eyes, earning a few rough thrusts of her fingers against his tongue. 

“You... have... no power. Not here.” She gasped between moans, barely able to form the words, the fingers rubbing her pearl rushing to the end. 

This time, his eyes rolled back, nothing but white, veiny marbles. Betelgeuse was defeated, for now. 

The sensations became to much, Lydia moaning with no regard for any neighbours, quivering her tight walls around his throbbing member. She pulled her fingers from his mouth, her hand finding a new home against his throat. She rode out her own high, juices freely pouring from her, soaking the ghoul beneath. 

“What’s the matter, Betelgeuse,” Lydia goaded once her voice returned, resuming a rough bounce when her pussy felt like it could handle it “, no witty retort? You always got a line. Come on, I wanna hear you _lose_.”

Betelgeuse took in a rabid gasp of air he did not need, teeth clenching, his upper lip curled above his gums. 

“Just ya wait-Fuck-‘til I get my hands on-SHIT, fuckin **tight**.”

“What you gonna do? Pin me down? Force yourself on me?” As she spoke, a sharp twinge of arousal sparked. The idea...

“Have ya beggin’... all yer holes-“ Lydia administered another hard slap. 

“I’ll send you back and let you _rot_. I’ll always have that,” Lydia leaned down, pressing herself flush to him and grinding her hips in all sorts of sinful ways “, now cum.”

Against himself, Betelgeuse felt himself explode, pumping buckets of thick white cum inside her. He let out a strangled, garbled groans; feeling as if the last of his spirit had left him and entered Lydia. 

Exhaustion also hit her, legs growing weak around his body. She fell over, resting herself upon her arms, pressed to his chest. Lifting her hips, she felt his cum pour from her. She couldn’t help but peer down, her breath hitching at the sight. Disgusting, dirty, yet she felt herself grow wet all over again. 

Lydia collapsed on her back beside him, looking over at the smell of cigarette smoke, to see a smoke sticking out from his lips. His eyebrows shot up, looking back at her. 

“Feel better?” He asked, sans smug smile or exuberant flair. It wouldn’t last forever, Lydia knew it, but she would take the small win for now. 

“No,” She sighed, stealing the cigarette from his lips and placing it within her own “, you’re still an asshole.” The nicotine hit different, letting out a telltale cough of inexperience. Betelgeuse didn’t seem to care, simply taking his cigarette back, using his free hand to wipe away a glob of tar and saliva; the rest dried in flakes against her porcelain face and smeared down her front.

He took a long drag, then held it between dirty fingers, out to her. 

A burning cigarette in the hands of a scheming, conman of a corpse. 

Lydia accepted, what she considered to be, the closest thing to an olive branch as she would ever receive.


	6. The Point Well Turned

They stayed like that, aside one another on the floor, for some time. Lydia was first to break the peace, pushing herself up onto unsteady feet, leaving Betelgeuse to amuse himself, needing to separate herself from him. Pale fingers ran along the stains of black, still moist and oozing. 

Articles of stained, unsalvageable clothing left in her wake, Lydia climbed into the shower while the water was still freezing. Off came the grime, until it pooled in her tub, swirling around her feet as if sentient and alive. Long after the water had drained, flecks of her sin settled upon the floor, sure to remain until she could scourge it with bleach. 

Her skin was clean, no evidence of the consummation of her marriage left to sight. Her insides, she wondered, if they could feel clean again. 

She wiped the fog from the mirror, staring deeply within herself. Lydia saw the rot there, tendrils of slimy flesh and weeping wounds crawling from the black pit of her core; that infection had time to permeate. It had existed long before their encounter in her art room. That same rot, now rank and beyond her control, was once manageable. Possibly reversible. That had been before his first act in her life, when her problems could’ve been easily solved if she had the right guidance in life... maybe a prescription or two. 

The Maitlands could’ve been that, but Betelgeuse saw the same telltale signs of infection. It had been too late for her ghostly parents to undo the damage done by him, prodding his diseased fingers around her brain. They alleviated the pain, and for a time, slowed the metastasis of the toxicity within. 

Yet... something new was there too, lurking in the distance, somewhere inside of her that still had colour. 

Fire. 

Disgust, possible regret. Those were often the first feelings she felt, after doing something hazardous to her health. What she did not expect was the pure strength of the _rush_. No substance could match the high Lydia was riding, no risky choice to force adrenaline that quickly through her. 

She had a weapon, a powerful one at that. Lydia had been unable to dream him so weak, writhing in _rage_ , surely imagining the ways he could tear her soul to pieces before it even left her body. Lydia came out on the other side, _alive_ , her arsenal completed with all she could ever need. Mutual benefit, she could do nothing about, but she would always be able to make him lose whatever was left of his mind. 

Lydia covered her mouth, muffling obtrusive laughter, as if the absurdity of her entire life had finally met the punchline. 

**What’s the difference between a _casino chip_ and _Lydia_?**

_One’s a **token** , the other’s **broken**._

Badumtss. 

She’d have to be broken, with how the heat bursted through the barrier at thoughts of Betelgeuse below her, snarling and heated. Spewing threats that should spark fear... would have inspired fear, if she had been that same soft girl when they first met. 

**What’s the difference between a Betelgeuse and a Lydia?**

_One’s an irritant, the other feigns innocence._

She tossed that one to the cutting room floor; Lydia held a disdain for slanted rhymes.

Lydia had always known that attempting to see any modicum of _good_ in him was a waste of time. Betelgeuse has taken many things from her, yet left her with a shred of optimism; she wondered if he had done it on purpose, so it would hurt more when she learned that everyone is poison. 

Even herself.

Lydia ran her hands along her hair, clearing her face, desperate to see herself, as if she hadn’t been looking at herself this whole time. 

Was she poison?

Lydia swallowed. 

Maybe- _no_. But then again... maybe. 

Probably. 

If she _was_ poison, she needed to be more poisonous than him. Time to get on par. 

Though Lydia’s skin had long dried, she found her cheek wet with tears. She dabbed them away with her towel. 

—

Betelgeuse lit another cigarette in their silence, sporting faux indifference when the mass beside him stirred. He burrowed holes into the back of her skull, watching Lydia walk away without looking back. 

He heard the click of the bathroom door, and only then did he run his fingers through his hair, nails threatening to pull the skin from his skull. 

_That_ had gone better th’n expected.

He could never admit just how often he fantasized about that very moment, but not a single one of ‘em had such an astonishing performance from the leading lady. Betelgeuse gave her props, it was surely due, for managing to surprise him after too fuckin’ long of existing. 

Sitting up, he rolled out his shoulders. A living man would be barely breathing at her bravado, his fingers brushing along healed flesh, hissing at phantom rushes of ecstasy at the memory of her unbridled rage. Ripped the knife right from him, buried it on without a second thought. Had he been alive...

Betelgeuse wiped drool leaking from his lips; _murderin’ little **MINX**!_. Boy oh BOY, he knew how t’ pick ‘em. Always say, sixth’s time the charm with the fairer sex. 

And he just knew, Lydia would still wonder why he had taken a liking to her. She just hadn’t seen her full potential, that’s all. Betelgeuse had a knack for sighting talent and Lydia had to be his best find yet. 

She’ll make one hell of a ‘geist, when the time came. They’d make shitty haunted house movies about them for _years_. 

But rage ain’t sustainable, not if he wanted to stay in her good graces long enough to explore her body. It had taken nearly a damn month to get her here, and even more **growth** on his part. 

He had once told Lydia that the possession permissions rolled from his shoulder. He hadn’t been entirely honest with her. The gravity like effect hadn’t changed her, not like it had him. It made him _want_ to be... and the idea nearly made him vomit; it forced him to want to be nice. 

Nice in the note of Betelgeuse, but it had managed to get him enough smiles and banter, just enough that Lydia could see that he wasn’t “just” a _villain_ , not like there was anyone qualified to call him one way or another. 

The shower had stopped some time ago, and Betelgeuse waited, reclining with an extended arm so his wife may settle up next to him. The warmth of her body never came, Betelgeuse reduced to roaming the halls, following the pull he felt towards her. He knew where she was, he could _feel_ it. She was on the fashionably unfinished sun deck, suspended over the town. Betelgeuse would often find her there, playing with charcoal to replicate the skyline. Now, she just sat on the floor, staring out to cemetery. 

Lydia never heard him approach, yet he noticed she always seemed to sense his presence. Drifting close enough to set off a bell, Lydia turned her head, looking up at him. She said nothing; simply waved long lashes, showing the eyes of a doll inbetween.

No, rage just ain’t sustainable. 

Betelgeuse dusted off his shoulder, allowing his boots to click along the floor. He dropped to a knee close behind her, flexing and wiggling his fingers just to stall, before placing his arm around her. He thought he saw some disgust and confusion within, but he felt Lydia full her lungs to the brim, before leaning herself into his side.


	7. Sadcore Bullshit

Betelgeuse had put in his time, watching Lydia in the attic all those years ago. He could tell when his wife was miserable. 

She seemed to go about her day like a ghost, trapped inside a living vessel, wandering in hopes of purpose. He wracked his broken brain, leaping over holes burned through memories, trying to recall when he had seen that expression she wore before. 

Betelgeuse had tried to play it safe after her sinful outburst. Pissing her off to the point of sexual frustration surely would only work a handful of times and he was desperate to save them. Yet the absence of joy, silence where there should’ve been quips, and lack of any emotion one way or the other left him with no option. Betelgeuse was determined to get something, _anything_ , out of her. 

With a flick of his finger, the fork that had lazily been resting in Lydia’s hand flew across the room; prongs sunk into a photograph, square in her father’s forehead. 

Betelgeuse waited for the scolding. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

Lydia shook her head seconds after, looking to her now empty hand. Her eyes looked to the vandalized photograph, then back to her plate. There her eyes stayed, head resting in one hand, not bothering to retrieve another fork, or even throw him a confused expression.

Any attempts to speak to her either went without acknowledgement, or she would tilt her head and ask him to repeat, because she had been miles away. She didn’t attempt to squirm away when he put an uninvited hand on her lower back. 

When Betelgeuse planted a wet, serpent tongue against her cheek to lick like a puppy and earned no protest, he dared to be a tad concerned. _This_ was not Lydia, not his Lydia. He had seen a glimpse of this woman pretending to be Lydia before, but for the damn death of him he **couldn’t** figure out when. 

Days passed and the changes kept going. Three days into whatever the hell this was, Lydia bunkered down in her art room, waving her husband away. He made a show of following her rules, retreating just long enough to juice himself transparent and watching her from the corner of the room like a spider. Betelgeuse expected to watch her make art, maybe even read as she often loved to do in her sanctuary. 

Instead, Betelgeuse saw Lydia sink down, sitting at the foot of her easel. Hands covered her face, but her body showed no signs of weeping. She simply sat there, unmoving, in pure silence.

Betelgeuse couldn’t go pale, the colour could not drain from his face, nor could his stomach drop into his guts. If it wasn’t for that, he may have done all three. The déjàvu was just too much.

She had done this exact motion once before, mere minutes before drafting her _note_ , just before they had formally met.

That’s when Betelgeuse started to **panic**. 

He hadn’t prepared, it was too soon for her to show up in the neither. Too many god damn things rode on her living _at least_ a little longer. He had bases to cover, **shit** to do, _bureaucrats to silence_.

He looped through the walls, fixing his appearance, before entering the room with the intent of being noticed. Lydia jumped when the door swung open. 

“Git’up, we’re takin’ a trip.”

“What?”

“I said, stand up, take my hand, we’re takin’ a _tri-P_.”

“I-I haven’t showered or-“

“Neither’ve I. Not’n issue, where I’m takin’ ya. Come on and bring th’camera.” He extended a hand, dust blowing off his sleeve, his other hand gesturing to the old polaroid maker.

“I’m _really_ not feeling up to it, B.”

“Listen, ya can come willingly or I’m jus’ gonna grab ya and take ya anyway, and I’d rather not have ev’ryone lookin’ at me ‘cause I made my wife cry.” He shook his hand in her face. The wave of relief he felt, and the sheer volume, when she rolled her eyes and took his hand would forever remain a secret.

Betelgeuse pulled her hand, Lydia stumbling flush against him. His arms encased her, and suddenly, the art room was void of life. 

—

Once Lydia felt ground beneath her slippered feet, she pushed away from Betelgeuse and regurgitated what little food she had within her. 

“S’rry ‘bout that, babes. Never done that with someone still breathin’ before.” Lydia heard him step behind her and felt his hand pat her back while she stood. 

Lydia found her bearings, finally able to evaluate where he had taken her. Whatever complaints she had about the sudden trip died in her throat. 

Magenta dirt shifted beneath her feet, the sky a rich mint with yellow clouds. Tall trees, looking rotted and dead, still blossoming all hues of blue leaves. Rocks, covered in moss that seemed to have sentience, pulsating against the mineral as if to steal its essence. There was no wind to rustle the trees, or creatures to build the ecosystem, yet this place felt alive with foreign sounds and fauna. 

“Where are we?” Lydia managed a whisper, the energy of this place having knocked the breath from her. 

“Some neither forrest. Miles of ‘em between bureau buildin’s.” Betelgeuse stood back, a cigarette in hand. 

“It’s... _beautiful_.” Lydia took her camera and started snapping. 

He let her run wild, always keeping an eye on her, making sure she didn’t get herself hurt. Betelgeuse couldn’t remember, what happiness in its most basic form felt like, but the triumph of returning a little life into Lydia had to be the closest thing he could get. 

He made no ceremony when she had finished, grabbing Lydia with a firm hand and taking her home. 

A day and a handful had passed since they left, the moon high in the sky, but Lydia didn’t seem to mind; too busy looking through the photos she had taken with a careful eye before laying them out on the kitchen table.

“Are there more places like this out there?” Lydia asked, looking at a picture of an unidentified flower, blurred from its own wriggling motion. 

“Plenty. Don’t worry, I’ll take ya eventually. Can’t show all my c’rds at once.” Betelgeuse snorted. 

Lydia spread out her photographs and only once the last was placed in the grid did she turn to him. 

“I look forward to it,” Lydia cracked the first smile Betelgeuse saw in days “, it was good to get out, especially somewhere so mystifying.”

“Ya should be proud, really, yer pr’olly the only livin’ soul to have seen it.”

Lydia tucked a loose charcoal lock behind her ear. She cringed as she felt the days of grease cost her fingers, but noted Betelgeuse had said nothing about her appearance. 

The advantages of a dead husband? Impossible to gross out. 

At least Lydia had that going her way. 

“I should head to bed, feeling kinda tapped out.”

“Sure, sure.” Betelgeuse looked over the table, scanning along the polaroids. It was fascinating to see his world through her eyes; she saw beauty where he assumed there was none to be had. She really _was_ somethin’, a phrase he found himself repeating when it came to his wife.

“Betelgeuse?”

Rarely did she speak his name. It made him turn, eyebrow cocked up, ready to be lectured like a child who stole cookies from the jar. He did a mental inventory of literally everything he had done recently, things she hadn’t already chewed him for, the things she didn’t even _know_ about-

Lydia stood on her toes and kissed his cheek, moss and all. His other cheek felt her warmth, Lydia’s hand perfectly caressing him. Betelgeuse’s eyes were peeled open, unable to comprehend what was happening. Barely a month ago, she gritted her teeth to interact with him and here she was, the missus, voluntarily **touching** him... _gently_. 

‘ _Fuck_ , fuck, **FUCK** , this feels better th’n sex... _as_ good as sex-fuck does it matter? WHAT is she DOING to you?’

“Thank you... for today.” The sentence was simple, but they both knew the subtext. Lydia picked up that Betelgeuse had picked up her mood that took a sharp plummet after having her way with him. 

Betelgeuse had loved it, and Lydia knew that, but still couldn’t shake off the disgusting feeling that came with it. What initially was a rush of adrenaline and pleasure had turned into shame, leaving Lydia to question her own position. What she had done... it was something Betelgeuse himself would’ve done. 

And she struggled with that concept, the possibly very real idea, that they could be two sides of the same coin. That thought evolved; what if she was **worse** than him? What if she was the tar that had warped this soul into something irredeemable, simply because he wanted her? It would prove right all the things she wondered about herself, all the accusations made in the mirror about being the one constant in her pain. Outlandish, Lydia _knew_ it was impossible that Betelgeuse wasn’t always... _Betelgeuse_ ; that could not stop her from wondering.

Maybe it would never go away. Lydia had been ready to add it to the pile of trauma she was destined to carry. 

But something about this moment, this very rare instance of understanding, allowed her to let go of all of it. At least, for a time, but reprieve none the less. 

“Ah-well-it ain’t nothin’.”

“It was something to me.”

“Why don’tcha get some sleep, babes. I’m gonna go terrorize the neighbour kids.”

“Only the older one,” Lydia tossed over her shoulder as she ascended the stairs “, that little bastard is mean to the neighbourhood strays.”

—

Betelgeuse popped out to give the kid a scare, in the form of a mutilated creature comprised of different household animals. A quick garbled promise of revenge from all the animals he ever scared or hurt, yowled in melting voices as he crawled from the closet to the foot of the kid’s bed. Not too shabby for work on the fly, made the kid cry mommy in ten seconds flat, and eight of those seconds were spent in absolute shock and voiding his bladder. 

No time for an encore; Betelgeuse spent the rest of his night perched on the edge of the bed, burning holes into the sleeping form of Lydia. 

One trip to what was the dead’s version of a slum and he got her affection? Just like that? Fuck, he was workin’ too hard. He really should’ve kept up the courting plan he had from the start; if she was gonna shut down like a fucked up, suicidal computer for days at a time whenever she got to play big bad aggressor, that shit wasn’t worth it. Probably be bad for his heart, if he had one that was still beating.

What did he hear the living say? Catch more flys with honey than with vinegar?

Well, no shit, honey is _sticky_. 

He’d keep riling her up to the point of snapping in the back pocket, at least until he found a way to get rid of the sadcore shit she felt after; never know when a guy will need to just be **destroyed** by a violent little spitfire. But there was something more appealing in earning it honestly. Like getting a deer to trust you, until it was ready to eat oats from your palm. 

Lydia was far more like a doe than a fly, Betelgeuse knew that from experience. No fast movements, no loud noises, just peace and time; and time was the one thing he knew he had.


	8. Ink Spots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl this has been sitting in my drafts, getting a few sentences here or there, for awhile and i can’t dote any longer so please enjoy 
> 
> full on hardcore balls to the wall smut next chapter, if that makes it better

That night, as Lydia was dead to the world, was the first night he touched her while she slept. 

The temptation had been _just_ too much. He crawled on all fours, his hands immediately finding her throat. Two hands, thumbs along her windpipe. He felt her hair, threads of silk, reaching past her collarbones. His sniffed her neck, daring to take a sampling lick along the tender skin there. For the briefest of moments, Betelgeuse pressed his weight against her sleeping form, _just_ so he could know, if he never won his prize.

He considered going further, but it would be much sweeter to have her give it up. He pulled the blanket up to her chin and brushed hair from her face. 

Betelgeuse, nor Lydia, couldn’t have know that the days to follow would be the upswing. 

—

Golden hour dawned upon Winter River, bathing the cemetery in an angelic glow. Lydia sat at the edge of the pond, surrounded in statues, throwing fistfuls of seed into the water. Betelgeuse kicked back in the grass, hands crossed behind his head. 

He enjoyed the silence in cemeteries; not many ghosts like to hang around. Any soul to be found here sought quiet. It made for the perfect place to fool around, and Betelgeuse knew he could show her that, in due time. All that could be heard was the clinking of a flask a strange husband and wife shared and the happy noises of ducklings feeding on kind offerings.

His sardonic babe took to night, a real natural nocturne. It was rare her insomnia dared to stay past dawn. He wasn’t invited to bed, but he watched from a distance, seeing Lydia tossing and turning. When she decided to head down for some television, Betelgeuse made his move. 

The way she jumped when he recommended a stroll through the corpse museum? It did something for him. 

It had been a good suggestion, too, he knew it when he felt the weight of her head fall against his stomach. Not quite the full body contact he thirsted for, just using him as a pillow, perpendicular, watching the ducks feed and frolic. 

Betelgeuse felt his hand lift and gently settle atop her head. Like a kitten, he stroked her fur, fingertips lightly scratching her scalp. He wasn’t sure why he was doing it, in his time being dead, he couldn’t recall doing it before, yet it felt right. An echo of before. 

And once Betelgeuse decided he was right in something, he would not be stopped. 

He kept watch for intruders, letting Lydia rest for an hour before taking her home. 

—

Lydia had gone, bidding him to behave as she walked out the door. 

“I’ll be faster without you, just keep yourself entertained for twenty minutes.”

And entertain he did. 

Betelgeuse went straight to her bedroom, opening drawers he had yet to see the contents of and digging through a few boxes of keepsakes. Her perfumes, lined up one by one on her dresser, were smelt carefully. He noticed she had so many bottles of perfume, tubes of lipstick, eyeshadow palettes... yet never used them. Makeup brushes, still in the package, perfectly clean resting in the en-suite. 

Back to the bedroom, Betelgeuse slid the closet open with one finger. There was electricity, something in the closet beckoned him to search. His hands hovered over boxes, looking for the faceless prize; she had supernatural objects. No doubt about it, nor was he surprised that his creepy loving wife would have a box for witchcraft. 

An old box, once holding slick black rain boots, sat in his lap. The lid came off. 

Red. Nothing but a sea of red, contained in a box on his lap. Betelgeuse didn’t recognize it at first, pulling the fabric out with two careful digits. He stood as the fabric unfolded, new life injected directly into the dress that hung from his hands. 

Betelgeuse stared at the article for a moment. How did this little lady keep him on his toes? He was certain his heart began beating again, imagining her standing before him, in this dress. Last time, she had been so disgusted, so sick at the idea of marrying him. Oh, too see how far we’ve come. 

He buried his nose in the chest, still able to smell her dread from that night so many moons ago. Betelgeuse’s body shuddered with the exhale; intoxicated on everything that was Lydia. 

Betelgeuse was going to fold it back up and put it away, before noticing a little black box at the very bottom of the box. The dress slung over one arm, he used his free hand to pick up the small velvet container and juiced it open. 

His ring. 

Well, his ring, given to one woman, and then given to her. She kept that too, long before she could’ve known any of this would happen. 

“Betelgeuse, why are you going through my shit.” Betelgeuse _jumped_ at her voice; whatever anger she felt instantly drained as she howled out laughter. In any other situation, he’d be livid. But it was Lydia, his Lydia, so he allowed her to laugh at his expense.

“Ghost with the most my **ass**! Shoulda seen your face,” Lydia snorted, walking up to Betelgeuse “, see you’ve found Roscoe. I named the dress Roscoe.”

“Yer fuckin’ weird, kid, ya know that?”

“Been told once or twice,” Lydia shrugged “, I dunno, just seemed... like it was it’s own person. Roscoe seemed to fit.” Lydia held the hem of the dress in her hands, thumb and finger rubbing the fabric together. 

“Gotta name fer _this_?” Betelgeuse held up the ring, getting a negatory head shake from her. 

“Nah, I think wedding ring is fine.” Lydia took the silver from his hand, the onyx stone shining a scale of grey in the light. She felt the weight of it within her palm, toting with it, before slipping it on her ring finger. 

She held out her hand, pale and slender, turning it back and forth. 

“Ain’t no diamond-“ Betelgeuse shifted, uncomfortable as she scrutinized the jewelry. 

“Diamonds are for the Claire Brewsters of the world,” Betelgeuse furrowed his brow “, total asshole in high school. I’ll tell you about her sometime.”

Lydia held the gem’s gaze for a moment longer. 

“It’s a nice ring,” Lydia’s smile was small, the average person wouldn’t have noticed, but her undead husband saw all “, I’ll fold that later if you’ll help me put the groceries away.” Lydia made her way to the door, the ring once locked away now on display for the world. 

Betelgeuse laid the dress out on her bed, following Lydia without complaint.

—

“No, no, I’m doing alright, dad... no problems here.” Lydia paced with the phone to her ear, the cord keeping her leashed to the wall. 

“Well, that’s good! Glad to hear it’s all taking off-oh? No, they’ve been gone for a post life thing... I’ve been alright, really. I’ve adapted to it.” 

As her father rambled on, Betelgeuse eyed the bar. He grabbed the good scotch, throwing the cap aside to smell the contents. He caught Lydia’s attention with a snap, shaking the bottle, getting an affirmative nod. 

In a blink, a crystal tumbler appeared in her hand. Neat scotch straight, as she expected; it seemed to be his favourite. Betelgeuse appeared before her, clinking their glasses together. The couple drank in unison. 

“I’m sure she does, Delia always hated the cold.” Lydia hugged the phone between her ear and shoulder, using her hand to make a ‘blah, blah, blah’ gesture. She rolled her eyes, her hand circling, begging her father to speed up. Betelgeuse snorted. 

He pointed to himself, then to the phone, and pseudo snapped his fingers with his eyebrows waggling the whole way. Lydia scrunched her noise, shaking her head. She made a move to exit, but bit her lip, staring at the ceiling as she swayed.

“Well, what’s a few more months to the schedule? All comes out in the wash, it’s Florida, plenty old and rich in the market.” Lydia was bouncing from foot to foot. 

Betelgeuse put his arms out, gesturing to himself. Eyebrows up, lips pursed, just ready for the signal. Lydia thought on it; she pointed to the phone, then shook her head. Back to the phone, then pantomimed shooing off a woodland creature.

Betelgeuse read her loud and clear. With a look to the front door, the doorbell rang twice as loud than it usually would. 

“Ah, that’s my food. Gotta go, dad. Love you!” She slammed the phone onto the receiver, tossing the rest of her drink back and she rubbed her forehead. 

“Thank _you_ ,” Lydia placed her glass upon the counter “, go for another round?”

Betelgeuse obliged, refilling both their glasses with a blink. 

—

An hour of looking for a movie, and a few mild arguments, left Betelgeuse at his wits end. He thought it was _very_ mature of him to offer a solution. 

“If yer bored, ya have’ta **say** so.” He toon her wrist, leaving Lydia no choice but to follow up the stairs. 

“Where’re we going?”

“Was thinkin’ we can spend an evenin’ at casa de Geuse.”

He led her to the attic, Lydia on the cusp of a question when he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. A gust of wind nearly knocked her down, holding onto Betelgeuse for stability. When her eyes opened, the smell of plastic and glue hit her like a brick. The ground squished, green slabs of fake grass beneath her feet. 

“We’re in the model?” Lydia looked up, seeing the attic ceiling.

“Ya **betcha**. C’me on, I’m jus’ up here.”

With an offered hand, he helped her step down into the grave. A boot clad foot kicked the casket open. 

“Ladies first, crawl right on down th’r.”

Lydia went with careful steps. Within the small confined of the box, she went to look to him with confusion, before her body jerked and slipped past tattered satin. When her feet were beneath her, she looked around; no longer surrounded by old fabric, rather a crypt with a homey touch. The floor, walls, and ceiling all carved into stone, the room lit with candles thick with melted wax. A grand fireplace, it’s hearth donning candelabras and stacks of paperwork long overdue. Before the flames sat a rug taken from the flesh of a hellhound, and Lydia noticed it’s eyes continued to move and stalk her. 

She walked around the hideaway, a finger running along spines of books covered with thick layers of dust. _Witchcraft & You!, Misunderstood; an Autobiography by The Prince of Lies, Hell’s Top 100 Souls of the 1900s_. Lydia noted she’d have to ask to borrow some of these. Lydia stood at the bed next, sheets and all strewn about. 

Skulls adorned every shelf, old bones oxidized to their maximum potential centuries ago. Some served as decor, others as candle holders. A carved patella sat on the bedside table, half full of ash and butts. 

Lydia had been so engrossed in her surroundings, she didn’t take notice of Betelgeuse. He stood at the fully stocked alcove, two otherworldly beverages bubbling and boiling upon the bar. He leaned on the counter, watching her take in every detail of his favourite ‘safe house’. The same kind of wonderment and whimsy, he saw it before, in the Neither’s forrest. 

“Like th’ digs?” He asked. Lydia ran her hands along the back of the black, leather couch as she made her way around to the bar. 

“Not sure if it’s _my_ thing.” Lydia chuckled, nabbing the beverage. They toasted to nothing in particular. It was Betelgeuse’s turn to laugh as she sputtered and coughed as the thick green potion crawled down her throat. 

A steady buzz came quickly. The couple could be found on a small, leather love seat. They discussed nothing of importance; the decay of the horror genre, Betelgeuse shared his personal encounters with some of the most prolific personalities of the world, and Lydia offered her point of view on the most puzzling of cold cases. They bonded over one glass of unidentifiable liquid, then broke out the cigarettes, both tobacco and otherwise. 

“Tell me something... shocking.” Lydia didn’t think much of throwing her legs over her husband’s lap, the sense in sobriety long gone. 

“Well, ya may’ve heard a little possession case. England, in the seventies? Family name’s lost on me... three kids...”

“Yeah, yeah, heard about it.”

“That,” He paused for dramatic effect “, was yer’s truly.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck **you**! That was one’a th’ better jobs I did too.”

“Look at that, my husband making headlines worldwide.” The word came out before she could stop it, only hesitating on it for a moment. 

“Dont g’t too excited, babes, story got bumped because of some political bullshit. Yer husband made page four.”

“Eh, one of us has to be accomplished. Sure as hell ain’t gonna be me, at this rate.”

“Whatcha mean?”

“I mean... I thought... I _guess_ I thought I’d have more together by now. Published photographs, art shows, selling my work.”

“Babes, in the _span_ of life, ya got plenty’a time.” A lie, but it was one for comfort; Betelgeuse put it in the good deeds category in his mind.

“Do I?”

Betelgeuse hadn’t been expecting that. Most folks breathing had a tendency to over estimate their time and mortality.

“Really,” Lydia sat up, lifting her legs and planting her feet on the floor “, do I? Because last I checked, I only have... maybe sixty years? At best? Given my habits.” Lydia pointed at the flaming cigarettes and empty glasses. 

Betelgeuse stayed silent, reclining, slinging one arm over the back of the couch. 

“My whole life, I’ve been told I should have it figured out by now. What job do I want to fill the time with, while I’m waiting to die? What kind of person do you want to be, because who I already am isn’t sustainable. When you tell someone you want to be an artist, that you want to be anything other than _their_ concept of productive... well, they laugh at you.”

“Th’n **laugh** back.” Betelgeuse shrugged, but Lydia shook her head, a sorrowful smile on her face. 

“Just letting it _go_ isn’t enough. I want to show them that I’m capable, show I’m nothing to laugh at. Get the name Lydia out in the public to show _everyone_ how wrong they were. But instead... I’m burning through daddy’s guilt money and throwing out publication rejection letters by the bag.”

Silence. 

“I dunno... maybe it was stupid, to believe that I was special just because of it all. The weird kid turned success story for all disenchanted youth out there. But wearing these clothes, being misunderstood, or even being able to see literal **ghosts**... none of that makes me special. I’m going to end up just like everyone else. And that’s probably my biggest fear... being like everyone else.”

Betelgeuse had been resting his elbows on his knees, leaned in, listening to his wife speak. The insights she could spout, the things she felt were so intricate. She had the dead philosophical motto down pat; Betelgeuse maintained she’s going to make one _hell raiser_ oh a poltergeist. 

“That ain’t a fear based on fact,” Betelgeuse finally spoke “, and ya know it. _Fuck ‘em_ , babes, yer as special as they come.”

As his mouth closed, a single tear fell down her cheek. Lydia was quick to wipe it away, turning from him to ensure more didn’t fall. Finally, when she felt ready, she turned back and placed one hand upon his thigh. 

“Say... wanna dance?” Betelgeuse’s sudden turn of tone left her off balance. He didn’t give her much time to answer, pointing a finger gun at an old phonograph.

_I don’t want to set the world on fire_

Betelgeuse stood and extended a hand. Lydia rolled her eyes, playful and as coy as a mildly intoxicated person could be, taking his hand. Her head cocked, seeing her arm donned in red. Down her eyes cast, her petit body consumed in a familiar ball of red tulle. Looking back up, Betelgeuse wore that same suit from long ago. 

“Never got ‘r first _dance_.” Betelgeuse’s telltale snort cut the awkward tension. She smiled, a half shrug in her shoulders, letting him whisk her to the centre of the floor. 

“That suit is an abomination of fashion.” Lydia chuckled, both hands on his shoulders as they rhythmically swayed, her fingertips rubbing into the crushed velvet.

“At some point, t’was **very** fashionable.”

Betelgeuse spun her with one hand, drawing her closer than before as she swung back in. Their chests, once half a foot apart, now sat flush. From here, Lydia had to wonder why she envisioned him as a tall, brooding presence for so long. He barely sat a few inches above her now, so close she could touch their foreheads together with a small lift on her toes. Instead, she settled for resting her head against his chest. When Betelgeuse moved his hands from her waist to her lower back, she felt her heartbeat hesitate. 

“Why didn’t you do this from the start?” Lydia sighed into his suit, the smell of dirt and death now apart of her everyday life. 

“Told ya bef’er, I was angry-“

“No, I mean before. Why the snake, any of it, if you had this inside you the whole time?” Her voice was quiet, but pointed. Her hands balled tight, two fistfuls of fabric keeping her anchored. One ear to his chest, she kept her eyes waiting; his answer would define many things to come. 

“Shit, wish I could tell ya. Really wish I could but I don’t know. Dunno why I do anything, I jus’ do.” Betelgeuse tightened his embrace around her. 

_‘Betelgeuse, you are all the things that are wrong with me.’_

His mind paraphrased the words she said, but they were her words either way. In that moment, swaying her softly, her voice ran on a loop. His jaw tightened; certainly Lydia felt it, her head tucked in the crook of his neck. 

**Put it off long enough.**

A careful hand, covered in moss and grime, took a perfect porcelain cheek within it. The motion came to a halt, his other hand mirroring the first, keeping wide eyes on him. Saliva pooled beneath his tongue; _his body still did that?_. 

Lydia’s lips fell open. Gloved hands came up, resting atop his own. The ring he had given her sat atop the satin, contrasting beautifully with the bright fabric and pale flesh. Lydia stepped into him, her toes lifting her the distance she needed. 

Nothing like before, there was no rage to drive her. Lydia pressed her lips to his of her own accord, her arms wrapping around him, keeping him flush against her. Her eyes fluttered closed, but Betelgeuse couldn’t bring himself to do the same. He wondered if he closed his eyes, if she would be there when he opened them. 

All the time spent watching her, marrying her, waiting in anger for her to come back. It had all been payment for this moment. The moment he fantasized about, the one he would touch himself to while invisible to her eyes in the attic, had come to fruition. Pure unbridled shock turned to... elation? Joy? Happiness? It had been a long time since he had felt anything like this, even better than her rough taking of pleasure in the art room some weeks ago. 

Lydia pulled away, still tight against him, eyelashes batting away. Betelgeuse knew in this moment, if he could be resurrected, he would die for her at the first opportunity. 

_I just want to start, a flame in your heart_


	9. Sweet Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s a porn chapter with minimal story baby please enjoy

One kiss became two, and two had turned it into something else entirely. 

Lydia pulled her husband flush, her hands balling fists around the fabric of his jacket. Tulle tickled her shoulders when he grabbed her there, his mouth dominating her own, winning the battle and slipping his tongue between her lips. Betelgeuse moved her backwards, her knees buckling as her calves hit the mattress. He pat himself on the back for his quick thinking of manifesting one; the dead didn’t need beds, but it was always nice to have one around. 

Lydia felt drunk, only a touch from the beverages. Mostly, she felt dizzy on him. The more his hands groped and squeezed, the stronger the desire to get him closer. She practically whimpered when he took a step back, admiring her while she dripped in red. Betelgeuse gave her a cocksure grin, pointing a finger at her, leaving her chilled. Lydia blinked, and found herself naked, baring it all at her husband’s will. It felt dirty, Lydia felt used as a plaything, and yet her only thought was how she needed more. 

Not a man to mince intent, Betelgeuse was quick to rest her thighs against his shoulders. Lydia’s breath hitched, embarrassed that her most intimate places no longer belonged to just her, his fine hairs tickling along sensitive flesh. 

He buried his nose within her groomed hair, his chin brushing against her throbbing bead. Lydia’s back arched as he basked in her scent, gasping when he dropped his lips to kiss her clitoris. Betelgeuse was fuelled by her whimpers, determined to make her scream before he was through; he let his tongue begin to work her. Fleeting, teasing with just the tip, he flicked his tongue. Lydia gripped the blanket below, refusing to beg him for more, accepting the sensation that was barely there as his muscle barely touched her. 

Pressure, she needed pressure. It was the only word on her mind and Betelgeuse seemed to answer in all the wrong ways. His tongue pressed, just firm enough, above her hood. He drew circles around her, daring her to fight, and she returned in kind. Lydia bucked her hips, just once, yelping when she felt force against her limbs. Invisible chains kept her bound, her arms stretched out and legs comfortably spread with suspended ankles. While his hands rested on her hips, there was a snug transparent bar that kept her in place. Exposed, ready to be taken. 

“Yes!” Lydia had hardly heard herself speak, heat already clouding her mind. 

Betelgeuse growled, senses overwhelmed as he relished in victory. Any plans to tease and torture went out with the trash; Lydia had provided what he sought, it was only fair to keep giving her reasons to relinquish herself. He clasped his lips around her bud, sucking as his tongue wriggled, earning wild moans from his wife. 

His tongue grew, slithering along her clit, slipping down to tease her entrance before slowly pushing his way inside. Lydia’s eyes rolled back, fluttering closed as the muscle grew thick within, leaving her full and panting for more. 

Invisible hands were all over her. Her nipples were being pinched, the curves of her body mapped, androgynous zones she didn’t know she had lit up like a switch board. Lydia felt rough nails scratching her neck, her hair was being pulled, and Betelgeuse was beginning to thrust his impossibly perfect tongue faster. Her entire body felt aflame, unable to string together two words, cursing and moaning. She screamed when she felt a finger teasing her tight anus, her voice garbled when he thrust two fingers in her mouth. 

Lydia didn’t need to be told, sucking at his digits, filling her mouth with the taste of dirt. Any thoughts of how disgusted she _should_ be did not register. We’re it not for the intense wave of pleasure, she wouldn’t have known that he slipped a finger inside her ass, her own dripping juices providing ample lube. 

Every part of her was full, every nerve in her body stimulated. Tears trickled down the corners of her eyes, the pleasure surging through to her very soul, unmatched to any experience she had. The bindings that kept her bound disappeared and Lydia took her shot, her hands finding his hair, keeping her steady as she manipulated her hips against him. 

Betelgeuse kept his eyes fixed on her face. He registered every little touch that made her shiver, what made her eyes roll back, and what made her hold her breath. He painted a map of her body and could confidently say he knew her geometry like the back of his own hand. 

This was not all for her; Betelgeuse felt sensations from every angle. She was perfection on his tongue, dripping like a ripe peach and twice as sweet. Every moan that left her lips sent electric shocks through his corpse, one that made him question if Lydia alone could kickstart the beating of his heart. Her nipples felt like cute pebbles between his fingers, her ass just as tight as her pussy, yet still eager to be used by him. When he would retract, her body would take him back in. 

Betelgeuse sensed her approaching orgasm, feeling her squeeze and quiver around his tongue and finger. He focused on reducing her to a pile of mush; his tongue thrusting and his finger pumped her ass. Two fingers, soaked in her saliva as he fucked her mouth. He withdrew his fingers, a bridge of saliva connecting her tongue and an invisible hand. Now free, Lydia let her wails of pleasure flow freely, her arms back to their extended position, without the aid of his hands holding her down. 

Lydia tried to say his name, just once, but it died on her lungs as his tongue manoeuvred. A kink in his tongue began to rub in all the right places, her clit delectably tortured by his nose, which Lydia swore was vibrating. What had been a slow build up began to race to the finish line. His hands were everywhere, fondling and taking as they pleased. Her nipples were pinched just rough enough, being gently pulled and manipulated. She felt pressure around her throat as his phantom limbs softly choked her, nails raked across every inch of her flesh. The crescendo was just a moment away, Lydia felt her brain begin to melt and all she could perceive was how Betelgeuse was playing her like an instrument. The fireworks began to fly, the bomb mere seconds from detonating, the tears that poured from her eyes tripled in volume. 

Suddenly, she gasped. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as her hands gripped the blanket with white knuckles. At the same moment he rolled her nipples between his fingers and fucked her holes with just enough vigor, her orgasm maintained the same spike for minutes. Clear liquid poured from her pussy, bursting into streams, coating Betelgeuse in her essence. Her voice found her, Lydia letting out a string of incoherent babbling groans as her entire body twitched and shook. 

Betelgeuse slowed down, but didn’t halt, keeping her filled in two holes while she found her breath. Then, with a peculiar mindfulness, he withdrew his finger from her ass and then pulled back, his tongue returning to normal size. Lydia felt warmth oozing from her holes, sitting up on shaking arms to see a pool of white dripping from her. 

“Wha-“ Lydia couldn’t speak, running a hand through her hair as she tried to wrap herself around the logistics. 

“Got _plenty_ of **par-ty** tricks, babes.” Betelgeuse grinned as he wiped his mouth with a hand. 

“Uh huh.” Lydia gasped, half laughing as she did. There was no need to communicate how the sight of the mess left her wanting; Betelgeuse could see plain as day. 

With a burst of strength, Lydia grabbed him by the collar. Betelgeuse let out a sound of surprise, collapsing on top of her, raising an eyebrow as her thighs held him there. He would’ve spoke , said anything, but Lydia was on him once more. She attacked his mouth, biting his lower lip, desperate to keep feeling him. One hand on the back of his neck, the other slunk between them, and Lydia unbuttoned his pants. 

Betelgeuse couldn’t help but laugh, snapping his fingers, his clothing disappeared. He was already hard for her, pressing himself inside her with little ceremony. Lydia gasped, arching her back, pressing her breasts against his chest. The sensation of his flesh on hers was pure fire; his beer belly was Lydia’s personal favourite aspect and the hair there tickled her torso. She held his face within her hands as he fucked her, as if she just now took notice of his eyes, a marbled green that left her hypnotized. 

Betelgeuse had no cap on stamina, but knew his mortal wife would be at her limit. Summoning another invisible limb, he flirted with her rock hard clit, earning another orgasm from her burning body in just thirty seconds. 

In the desperate moment, Lydia begged him to cum inside her again, whispering in his ear how she needed to feel him fill her. Betelgeuse allowed himself to tip over the edge at her words, pressing himself as far as he could go, filling her with an unearthly amount of glowing, translucent goo. 

Betelgeuse collapses beside her, pleasantly surprised when he felt Lydia roll to rest her head upon his chest. He couldn’t care any less of the mess seeping from her cunt, enjoying the filth they made together. His jagged fingernails tickled patterns onto her shoulder. 

“How was my per- _for_ -mance?”

“You’re okay.” While her words were indifferent, he felt her fuck-tired smile against his chest. 

Lydia found sleep and Betelgeuse stayed still, admiring her sleeping form as he had done so many times before, but this time with new perspective. His hand pet her hair and occasionally he placed a kiss atop her head. Hours passed until Lydia’s eyes fluttered open, a lazy smile on her face when she realized it hadn’t all been a sexy fever dream. 

“Mmm, how long have I been sleepin’?”

“Couple hours,” Betelgeuse rubbed her back “, ya hungry?”

“Mhmm... don’t wanna cook though. Maybe Chinese... or pad thai.” Lydia huffed, drawing circles around his nipple with a poised finger. 

“Pad thai in this ass fuck nowhere town?”

“You’d be surprised,” Lydia stretched and finally sat up “, there’s this place off Dupont, total hole in the wall, but the food is immaculate. Say, you forget basic vocabulary, but you remember what the fuck pad thai is?”

“Hey,” Betelgeuse gestured to his gut “, I look like the kinda guy who doesn’t know his food?”

Lydia laughed, patting his stomach before slinking out of bed. She grimaced as she looked down, her legs covered in a mixture of her own dried juices and his cum. Looking to Betelgeuse, he waved a hand, leaving her clean as a whistle. Her body felt warmer, realizing he had ‘geused his old red button down upon her form. It reached below her ass, keeping her modesty intact, just barely hiding the black thong he had placed upon her. 

“You’re not slick.” Lydia tossed over her shoulder. 

“Not tryna be, babes.”

Betelgeuse got himself together, offering an arm to his wife, which she took with a smile. A gust of wind sent them back to the attic, observing their niche hideaway from above. 

“I’ll get yer pad thai on the way, why don’t ya go pick somethin’ subpar and gory to make out to.” He whispered in Lydia’s ear, letting her descend the stairs first. 

Lydia snorted, shaking her head as the round the hallway to the main stairs. They walked side by side, until the final stairs, where Betelgeuse jumped to the bottom and extended a hand. Lydia rolled her eyes, but accepted his chivalry, allowing Betelgeuse to help her down. 

Before she could slip away, Betelgeuse pulled her close, capturing her chin with a finger and thumb. He leaned in, almost all the way, letting Lydia close the distance. What was supposed to be an moment of innocence turned sinister, Lydia’s hands holding his face and his hands on her lower back, pressing her flat to him, letting her feel the stirring of excitement below his belt. He felt her smile against him, willing pressing herself against his growing length, earning a satisfying growl of desperation from her husband. 

“ **You**.”

Their lips were occupied. Betelgeuse and Lydia reeled back, looking to the source of the noise. 

There stood Barbara and Adam, painted in rage from head to toe.


	10. The Piper

Adam looked to Betelgeuse, then to the back of Barbara’s head. The woman stood strong, a fierce look in her eyes, her fists balled up tight at her sides. Barbara took a step closer. 

“Get your hands,” Barbara raised a single finger “, off. My. Daughter.”

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, letting out nothing but a gasp as Betelgeuse thrusted himself between her and her post mortem parents. 

“How ya doin’, ol’ Maitland clan? Keepin’ up? Adam, lookin’ fit! Been working out, buckaroo?” Betelgeuse gestured to Adam, waggling his eyebrows. 

“And you! Babs, ya ain’t never looked better! I’d give ya more, but I doubt the missus here would ‘ppreciate it.”

“Don’t.” Lydia hissed, smacking Betelgeuse on his bicep. 

Barbara narrowed her eyes. 

Betelgeuse let out a yelp, his lips fusing shut. His attempts to open them to yell profanities rendered the growth of skin loose, just to grow tight once more. He busied himself, claws attempting to burrow through the barrier. His desperate,  
failed attempts to yell profanities fell short; sealed by magics only a livid woman could summon. 

“Young lady, _explain_ yourself.” Unable to look at Betelgeuse, Barbara waved Lydia over. She placed two loving hands on either one of Lydia’s shoulders, ready to comfort, or shake some sense into her. 

Lydia’s hands pulled at the hem of her husband’s shirt, knees knocking against one another, her eyes trained on her flexing toes. 

“It’s... _so_ complicated.” Lydia began with a deep breath, mirroring Barbara by placing her hands upon her shoulders. 

“What did he do to you?” Adam piped in, joining the huddle with a protective hand on Lydia’s back. 

“He hasn’t _done_ anything, I have to tell you some-“

“I’ve done **plenty** , big guy. Thought ya woulda _heard_ the-ah- _screamin’_ all the way in the waiting room.”

“What is **wrong** with you?” Lydia said, flabbergasted. 

“Enough!” Barbara pushed away, stomping across the room to the dead intruder. 

“Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse!” Lydia managed to throw the words just in time, Barbara tumbling as she threw her hands out to choke him. It would have been pointless, but Barbara knew it would’ve made her feel better. 

“Why are you protecting him? What has he ever done for you?” Barbara yelled, gesturing to the air Betelgeuse once claimed. 

“I said, it’s **complicated**.”

“After what we went through, saving you from him. Oh, Lydia.” Adam huffed, hands on his hips. 

“You’re not _listening_. I was never saved from anything, not after you’re the one who called him here in the first place! It’s your fault he even saw me.” Lydia shifted her weight on burning heels, her animated hands reaching for a life preserver that wasn’t there.

“You know that’s not true,” Barbara sighed, rubbing her face “, he was here... he manipulated us. Just like he’s manipulating you-“

“But he’s not!” Lydia shook her hands, eyes wide. She felt the need for a megaphone, anything that could make her be loud enough to be recognized. 

“Baby, he’s not here. He can’t hurt you, just tell us what happened and we can help you.” Barbara walked towards Lydia, arms open, ready to feel her warmth. Yet the warmth never came, instead receiving a vicious eye roll and exhausted sigh. 

“He’s done _nothing_ to me. He hasn’t hurt me or harmed me or, or... **hypnotized** me. I’m the one who brought _him_ here.”

Barbara scoffed, holding a hand over her heart, attempting to hold off the shattering of her very soul. 

“I don’t- I _can’t_ understand.” Barbara whined, quick to accept Adam’s offer of an embrace. 

“There was a contract,” Lydia prepared for the onslaught “, a marriage contract. It showed up on my desk one day-“

“Which day?” Barbara turned to her. 

“My,” she looked down, not ready for what would come next “, my eighteenth birthday.”

Barbara and Adam stared at Lydia for many beats, their faces puzzled. 

“You kept this from me... from _us_ for... it’s been a year and a half?” Barbara’s voice was thick with breath she did not require, holding onto Adam, lest she drift away. 

Lydia retreated to her room, slipping on some pants and grabbing the leather bound contract. Letting her second parents flick through the book took long enough, and Lydia had to look away, Barbara wiping away more tears with every page she turned. Lydia knew that, for the dead to cry, they had to will it. Barbara certainly had the motherly guilt trip down to a science. 

Lydia hadn’t been prepared to reflect on the past. She recounted sleepless nights, fleeting whispers in her ear that spoke his name. Lydia felt an odd sensation in her legs, when she told her parents that she saw him everywhere, in everything.

“Gravity,” Lydia clarified “, it felt like gravity.”

Adam adjusted his glasses, a contemplative look upon his face as he ran a finger down the contract’s pages. 

“When you left for your review... I couldn’t help myself. I had to see him, talk to him. So I did, and it was rocky, but I _always_ knew how to handle him. He’s just as much on a leash as I am.”

“We have to get you outta this.” Adam said, continuing to scan the pages. 

“I looked, so did B.”

“ **B**?”

“I can’t say his name, or he’ll show up in the nearest mirror, and I don’t think you guys need that.”

“I just... we could’ve gotten you therapy. Medications, literally anything to control these-these... permissions.” Barbara held her head within her hands. 

“Don’t you think I tried,” Lydia laughed at the absurdity of it all, rubbing her forehead “, because I tried it. I tried drowning it out, ignoring it, tried turning it into art... I know, you don’t understand, but it’s... it’s working.”

“What do you mean?” Adam adjusted his glasses. 

“It’s not perfect, or even ideal, but it’s been alright. He’s crude, mildly annoying... but he doesn’t treat me poorly, he’s never hurt me, laid a finger on me. He talks to me, and turns out he can listen too. Had a couple of screaming matches along the way, but the past few weeks have been good.”

Barbara settled back into the couch, bringing her knees to her chest. The couple remained silent. 

“He’s funny, now that he’s not a threat. He eats the spiders and the webs, the corners have never been cleaner. The middle ground is large enough, we’ve been having a great time. I know you have issues with it, but if you let me talk to him, and you guys keep calm? Maybe you could just... talk. That’s what I did.”

Barbara rubbed at her mouth, silent for a moment before shaking her head. 

“I can’t believe this is happening in my house.” Barbara grabbed for her husbands arm, leaning her weight against him. Adam offered his limb to her, but his eyes stayed on Lydia. 

“It’s our house.” Lydia corrected. 

“Lydia,” Adam sighed “, are you really, truly happy?” Barbara’s head snapped up, eyebrows furrowed in anger, knowing where her husband was heading. Before Lydia could answer, Barbara stood and paced the floor. 

“Is she _happy_? You know I’d never say this, you **know** I’d _never_ , but her happiness doesn’t matter here. He’s an unhinged maniac predator! I want you to have him exorcised and that’s enough on the matter.”

“No.” A firm tone set the framework, Lydia standing tall, staring at the face of a bewildered Barb. 

“There will be no discussion, Lydia.”

“Barb,” Adam removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose “, maybe you should go cool off and we can come back to it.”

“Are you serious, Adam? I won’t have that animal in my home, touching _my_ daughter with his creepy, **rapist** hands.” Barbara turned her back and stormed up the stairs, making a line for the attic. 

“I think Barbara and I need to go and decompress from everything,” Adam stood, pausing on the way to his wife to place a hand atop Lydia’s head “, we still love you, kid.”

Lydia nodded, the words Adam spoke making her eyes well with tears. 

“You never answered my question,” he continued, taking a knee to meet her at eye level where she sat “, forget everything else, are you happy?”

“Happy is a government conspiracy,” that made Adam laugh and herself crack a smile “, but yeah, doin’ pretty well.”

With a paternal hand, he pat her cheek softly. He went up the stairs without looking back; there was no need to check, he knew the kid was alright. Lydia listened, hearing the attic door close, and only then did she relax her body. 

Lydia let out a long, shaking breath. Her hands ran through her hair as she blinked at the ceiling. 

“Betelgeuse?” Lydia spoke to the wind, head turning to the decorative mirror upon the wall, seeing a familiar head of damaged hair. 

“Pulled me out just in time,” he snorted “, there ain’t no fuckin’ way I’m listen to a banshee scream f’er an hour.”

“Enough,” Lydia crossed her arms as she approached the mirror “, Barb’s not gonna come around with that attitude.”

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes, but held his hands up in conceit.

“I’m serious. You don’t need to love her but you have to tolerate her, or she’ll never stop ordering me to exorcise you,” Lydia held her hands to the glass when his face contorted in anger “, she’s just angry. Everyone says some crazy stuff when they’re angry. I’m not going to do it, I told her no, and you should know by now that I never would. If I was going to, I would’ve done that awhile ago.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. One fuckin’ collar walks through that door and all bets ‘re off.”

“I’d burst into flames if a priest walked in here.” Lydia’s smile was weak, but her joke earned a round of snorting laughter anyway. 

“Adam’s coming around,” Lydia continued “, treat him nice and you’ll be on his tolerable side in no time.”

“Good ol’ Adam, I knew we were simpatico! Say, ya itchin’ ta let yer man out?”

“Does my man promise not to instigate anything?”

“Cross my heart, hope to die.” He winked. 

“I’m serious, no more pot shots. I just spent the better part of two hours going to bat for you. You won’t get another shot.”

She called him out, perhaps against her better judgement. Stepping from the glass, he dusted himself off, then slung an arm around her shoulders as he led her to the kitchen.

“I know ya didn’t get time to eat and ya turn into one cranky bitch when yer hungry.”

“I’d be offended if you weren’t right.”

Yelling echoed through the house long after they had settled, the sound falling low like heat. Lydia drowned out the sounds by turning up the television volume, something shitty and gory just as Betelgeuse had requested playing in the background. As the film’s group reached the cabin in the woods, the couple contemplated taking a vacation. Really, it was just an excuse to remove themselves from the surely hostile environment soon to come. They had become accustomed to their small bubble, a little cocoon encapsulating the house atop the hill, and there was room enough for two. Two more? Only time could tell. 

“How about Vegas?” Lydia suggested, wiping the corners of her mouth, dropping the napkin inside the empty takeout container. 

“Hot _damn_ , where’s **this** Lyds been hidin’? Ya know I can rig the roulette table.”

“Mmm, keep that in the pocket, I’m not exactly prepared to rob a casino. How ‘bout the Neither?”

“Oh, sure, yeah! Gotta couple’a haunts there ya’d love. Gotta say, I’d rather take ya somewhere in this dimension. Plenty’a places about, ya know; kiosks only open at 3 a.m., _Needful Things_ shops, witch discos, them kinda gigs.”

“Pick your top five and we can make it a road trip.” 

Lydia felt herself gliding across the fabric of the sofa, suddenly colliding with Betelgeuse’s body. His arms were around her, squeezing various places on her body. She chuckled, a hand over her mouth to keep the sound from carrying to the attic. Betelgeuse had the blanket up around her shoulders, moving her like a doll until she straddled him, and leaned flush against his front. 

“Was gettin’ **chilly**.” He cocked his eyebrow. 

“I don’t know,” Lydia wrapped her arms around his neck “, Barbara might kill me if she sees _this_ , let alone-“

“Hush, shh, shhhhhh, babes. Just re **lax** , stop workin’ that brain.”

“Yeah, just keep it PG.”


	11. Demands Payment

Dry mouth. Plush over her body and caressing her head. 

She must have fallen asleep. Lydia sat up and scratched her head, finding herself completely alone in the living room. The television was off, the curtains drawn, moonlight slipping between the gaps. Lydia felt where Betelgeuse had been, the cushions naturally chilled. He had been gone for long enough. 

She checked the clock; 3:49am. 

She considered resting there awhile longer, but a moment of tossing and turning changed her tune. With a stretch, she stood, she moved across the hardwood in bare feet. Lydia cupped her hands, splashing water onto her face before swishing her mouth. The sounds echoed in mind, the house’s dead silence practically deafening as the faucet dripped. 

Sleep no longer plagued her. With a furrowed brow and held breath, Lydia moved up the stairs. She peaked in every room as she went, more confused when no spectre could be found. She paused at the attic door, leaning her ear against the wood. Only the natural sounds of the house to be heard. Lydia was quick to the upstairs bathroom. 

“Betelgeuse?” She spoke his name before she could reach the light switch. Her reflection did not change, he didn’t appear.

Lydia went back downstairs, her hair fluttering behind her as she moved to the mirror. 

Nothing. No familiar cackle or telltale boots. 

Lydia suddenly felt ill. With one word, gone unanswered, all her weight settled in her gut. A queasy wave slammed against her, her neck felt tight. She swallowed, hard, attempting to say his name once more, yet it only came out as a squeak. He was a constant. Her reliable balance, thrown off quilter. 

“Betelgeuse?” 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

The grandfather clock flooded the living room with noise. Lydia swallowed again, saliva beginning to pool in her mouth. Nausea rattled her esophagus. Lydia relived the same terror of her youth, watching her family whittling away during a misfired seance.

Something was wrong.

“Be-“

There he stood, jacket off, in a red shirt that Lydia liked so much. The sight of him there with his buttons too tight, and gut sticking out over his pants, instantly soothed her ailment. Relief... from what? She couldn’t be sure. Lydia collapsed to her knees, both hands on her chest, huffing. 

“Jesus christ, you scared me. Why didn’t you come? It’s supposed to _work_.” Lydia looked up to him, the concern still lingering upon her face. 

“Shit, ya got me on th’second go, didn’t ya? Ya know how much _energy_ that zaps? Had to hold ya off, I was doin’ somethin’. Could be nicer t’yer man, considerin’ I’m tryin’ ta keep the in-laws cool. _Yer welcome_.” Betelgeuse rubbed his face, then leaned his hands on either side of the mirror, cocking his hip. He bobbed his head, something he only did when he felt he was in the right. 

“Why did you **think** that would work? Why would that _ever_ fucking work?” Lydia yelled as she stood, scratching her throat. 

“The **fuck** , negative Nancy? It’s _goin’_ just fine, when Babs ain’t losin’ her shi **t**.”

“I haven’t heard a thing.”

“By fuckin’ design, babes. ‘Nd that was yers truly,” Betelgeuse pointed an accusatory finger at her chest “, which _means_... ya don’t wanna hear it.”

“Fucking permissions,” Lydia grumbled while aggressively rubbing her forehead “, if you’re not doing anything, why would she be losing it?”

“Ya fuckin’ saw her earlier, right? Hated me fer _one_ itty bitty bad experience with the B-man, meanwhile I’m extendin’ a fucking’ olive branch and getting spat at fer it.”

“I’m going up there, I wanna know the damage you’ve done,” Lydia took a breath and collected herself “, **or** if Barbara is actually that upset. _If_ it’s the latter, and you’re _actually_ doing something right, we’ll be better together.”

“Don’t ‘ppreciate the tone, but s’all I ask, babes.”

Without thought, Lydia grabbed for his arm. Her fingers moved through the glass like water, a familiar chill soaking her flesh, the same chill she felt when he had taken her to the other side. Lydia pulled him through, and they exchanged a look of dumbfounded whimsy.

There would be a time to discuss the novelties of their unique arrangement another time. They ascended quick, the attic door flying open. She went to say their names, suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. 

The door to the Neither was ajar, Adam’s frame dark before the sickly green slow. 

Lydia wanted to ask what had happened, or where Barbara was. Before the words could be spoken, Adam turned around with an expression that said it all. Lydia took notice a long time ago, how his brow furrowed when something was amiss. How Adam fidgeted with his fingers, as if grasping for purchase on a situation he had yet to understand. The nervous tic; adjusting his glasses while eyes cast holes into the floor boards. 

Then, Lydia considered something accusatory, ready to have yet another round with the ghost. Yet when she turned to scold, he seemed just as dumbfounded as Adam. Not the phoney flabbergasted routine, when Betelgeuse would scratch his head and look around the room for another culprit. Instead, he simply stood, uncharacteristically staring at the open portal. His head cocked slightly to the left as his lips pursed in the confusion of it all. 

“I was gone _five **fuckin’** minutes_! Ya said, and I fuckin’ quote,” Betelgeuse straightened up, his throat imitating Adam to a perfect pitch “, _I’ll keep Barbara calm while you get Lydia_. Yer fuckin’ words.”

“I know what I said, and I tried! Really,” Adam ran both hands along his hair “, Lydia, honey, I really tried.”

Lydia had gone back to looking at the glowing void, oozing fog and a rancid smell. 

“Clearly not hard enough, _bucko_. Shit, I **knew** ya couldn’t keep ‘er on lock. I ain’t ‘bout tra- _ditional_ roles, but keepin’ yer gal cool is basic shit.”

“Don’t argue with _me_ about marriage!”

The spectres continued to bicker, as Lydia looked on into the green glow. Two pale hands, held in one another, pressed against her chest. They were her own, as if the pressure between her collarbones could stop the ache in her soul. 

Closer she moved, each step she took reverberated into her skull. The smell grew worse, a stench of souls stagnating in the Waiting Room reached all the way to the Overworld. Lydia felt the brick against her palms before she saw it, staring into the pool of nothing, simply leaning against the frame. 

“Not even a note.” Lydia whispered to herself, hoping it would bellow down the infinite hallway and meet the ears of the woman she mistakenly called her undead mother. 

Not just a mother. A guardian ghost. 

Lydia dropped her arms to her sides, considering making a run through the halls until she found the woman. The two men remained oblivious as they fussed over whose fault it was. Ready to search for the rest of her natural life, Lydia took a deep breath and straightened her shirt, fixing the top button closed. 

She looked down at herself, fingers running along the buttons. Lydia still wore Betelgeuse’s shirt; her husband’s shirt hanging off her body that left her with a pause. Lydia was tired of being the one fighting. Bare knuckled, underground fights to earn belonging, for purpose, and for the marriage that cursed her for eternity. Suddenly, it all seemed simple. In the instant it would take to snap her fingers, Lydia let the weight fall away from her ankles. 

“You should go after her.” Lydia spoke loud, yet not confident. The squabbling men finally looked her way, her husband with fire in his eyes, and her only remaining parent of the other side with sadness. 

“I’ll get her, Lydia. I can bring her back, and we can-“

“No.” Lydia stayed firm. 

“Lydia...”

She approached him, hugging Adam like she had at every A on her report card, at her graduation, and post every monopoly game gone awry. 

“This wasn’t your fault, or yours, Beej. It just... it was me. And Barbara. I still love you, Adam. You were the dad I wanted. The dad I needed.”

Adam looked lost, with his tight lips and shifting weight. His arms felt snug around her shoulders. 

“When you find her... pass along a message for me?” Lydia spoke once more, realizing Adam had no words left. 

“Anything, kid. You know that.”

“Tell her that... I’m glad. I’m _glad_ she walked away. I’m glad because it saved **us** the confrontation.” 

Lydia looked behind her, seeing Betelgeuse quietly observing from the corner, intrigued yet knowing when to keep his mouth shut. It made her want to smile, knowing he had come so far from that night some months ago. 

Adam made a slight expression, akin to a wince. Cutting words, deserved or not. 

“I could stay for awhile.”

“No need for both of us to have a grudge against us. Go, please. _We’ll_ be okay here.”

“I tried to bring her around-“

“I know, and thanks for trying. Thanks for understanding... at least the contract read better than the Handbook.”

The pair shared a sad laugh, just for a second. Adam pulled Lydia in once more, stroking her hair, with a loving paternal touch. 

“I love you, too kid. Always. I’ll keep my ear out, don’t be afraid to break out the Ouija.”

“Good luck, old man.”

Adam looked back twice before stepping through the door. The bricks closed and sealed over, never to be opened again, forever entombing her pain. Lydia stumbled back, collapsing upon the dusty attic couch. She held her face on her hands, awaiting tears that would not come. A snap brought her head reeling up. Betelgeuse waved a full glass of pure alcohol in her face. Lydia took it without complaint, her other hand grabbing the new cigarette from between his fingers. 

“Sooooo... that was pre-tty **rough**.”

“I _never_ want to talk about it.”

“I’ll drink ta that.”

Lydia held up her drink, toasting a good day turned shitty. Liquor hit her tongue, no longer the sharp taste she once considered. It felt familial and warm, a blanket for the chilled inside. 

“Well, w-uts the plan?”

“No fucking clue,” Lydia bounced her back against the couch “, clean out the attic, I guess. Lots of storage space... maybe move my art stuff up here.”

Betelgeuse nodded, downing his glass in one go. He let Lydia take a few drags before taking it from a hand offered. He took his own drag, swift to light another dart with the burning one, then handing her the fresh stick. 

“We can move the model into your space, if you want. I’d like to keep it.” She offered. 

“Handle the attic tomorrow,” Betelgeuse stretched his legs out “, let’s drink.”

Lydia nodded, tossing back some of her beverage. 

“I believe you, you know. That you didn’t instigate her leaving.” Lydia spoke into her beverage, leaning over to bump her shoulder with his. 

“Water ‘nder the bridge. Yer a smart one, not believin’ _the_ conman by trade.”

“Ah, so he finally admits it.” Her voice carried only a trace of amusement, her head turning to offer the beginning of a smile.


	12. Return to Form

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’d say there’s about one chapter left of this bad boy

Betelgeuse patiently waited, the familiar signs of Lydia’s exhaustion finally settling with her breathing. Her weight, entirely dead, pressed against his body while a hand rested beneath her cheek. A dirt clad hand stroked from the roots of her hair, down to the tip. His hand kept exploring, touching her back, pawing as the curve of her hip, and a quick brush across her upturned breast. At a time, he did so to covet. Now he possessed what he had so yearned to have, and be _damned_ if those simpletons upstairs would do anything to jeopardize it. 

He savoured the moment, forgoing spectral powers to slip from under Lydia. A careful hand rested her head upon a pillow and tucked the blanket along the back of the couch around her. A part of him reminded himself that he could’ve done so with a little touch of the juice, yet there was another part of him that felt compelled to service her by hand. He leaned over the back of the couch and watched her resting face. 

While he took in the curved of her cheekbones, he did his best to formulate an idea of what he could say. It was his own trick, lay out the plan to himself, just as he had done five minutes before throwing the Maitland’s their own personal commercial. Scams and shams seemed much easier than the task he was about to undertake.

A snap brought him to the attic door and her heard stirrings of conversation just beyond. Popping the tension in his neck, Betelgeuse swung the door open, walking in with his arms out, always one for a brilliant entrance. 

“Don’t b’given **me** any looks, ‘m callin’ a _truce_.” He produced a white handkerchief from his pocket, waving the torn and blood stained fabric in sign of surrender. 

“You waltz in here, give Lydia a healthy dose of Stockholm, and we’re supposed to be okay with it? Just because she says so?” Barbara skipped the small talk, on her feet and ready for the battle. 

Betelgeuse threw his hands up with a shrug.

“Kay, I can admit, shady shit is th’ bread ‘n butter. Won’t fault ya fer the assumption, _buuuut_ Lyds? She’s too smart fer my bullshit, learned th’last time ‘round. Don’t be gettin’ pissy cause yer kid chose me, of ‘er **own** volition.”

“She’s hardly in the mindset! What makes you think that a chronically depressed teenager can make any choices about relationships?”

“Last I _heard_ , almost twen’y adds up ta one whole adult,” Betelgeuse huffed and waved his hands “, shit, what more’d ya _want_ from ‘er? Ya can’t be mad, ain’t her fault. Now that I think ‘bout it, s’not mine either.”

“If you hadn’t gotten involved, there would’ve been no wedding to make a contract of.”

“Th’ bureau fucks everyone! Ya know how they are, equal _opportunity_ suffering.”

“Can we all agree that the issue is that Lydia never mentioned this to us. We were blindsided.” Adam jumped in, less volatile than his companion. 

“I can’t even talk about that yet,” Barbara held up a hand to Adam before turning back to Betelgeuse “, and don’t act like you aren’t relishing it.”

“Unlike ya miserable folks, I look to th’ _brigh_ -t side. Sue me fer likin’ t’ laugh. Th’ B-man here got a smokin’ piece who stands bein’ round, and daughter dearest has a man who **literally** has’ta act like’a trained mutt. _Works_ fer **us**.”

“Lydia _deserves_ better. We were giving her better, apparently until that contract showed up!”

“Now yer just _insultin’_ fer the helluvit. **Adam** , while yer takin’ notes, mark down that _I’m_ tryin’ ya manifest some _peace_. Funny how thing were goin’ like butter ‘til y’two appeared.”

“And what about all the time that you weren’t there? The _nightmares_ , the anxiety? She rotted from the inside out for years because of what you did. You’re a monster, you’re pretending like you had no hand in any of this!”

“Oh, **cry** me a fuckin’ river. I let Lyds get all that pent up angst outta the way ‘nd it’s been _smoooooth_ sailin’ ever since. Shit, I got no idea what ya think ya can do, if Lyds hadn’t sought **me** out, I’m ‘fraid we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation.”

“Barbara, he’s right,” Adam held up his hands in defence when she turned “, you know Lydia. The harder you push against it, the more she’ll rebel. It’s nature.”

“You’re still siding... jesus christ, what is happening here?”

“No, I’m trying to be objective. I’m angry too, but you _saw_ her, honey. She’s got this, and when Lydia has an idea, she’s ready to run with it. Please, set your personal stakes aside-“

“I don’t understand how you can say that,” Barbara scoffed while rubbing her face, exhausted at the looping argument they’ve been having the entire evening “, he preyed on her. He tried to force her into marriage, and this whole time we thought we saved her... we failed, Adam. We failed her.”

“We didn’t fail, we just didn’t know. Who _could’ve_ known?”

“I certainly didn’t.” Betelgeuse snorted. Barbara stayed facing Adam, a hand on either side of her face.

“Ignore him for now,” Adam put on his best comforting smile “, you saw the same contract I did. You heard the same story... we may not be able to undo it, but we can all sit down and have a discussion. 

“I can’t talk with him Adam, I can’t.”

“I know, but just for ten minutes. We can get Lydia, and all four of us will get it out. We can all find a way to move forward and not lose Lydia. Because that’s what this is about,” Adam moved close and took her arms within his hands “, we won’t lose Lydia if we just talk it through.”

“After everything he’s done?”

“Keep hearin’ that, _what I’ve done_. What exactly did I do? Saved yer sorry asses from gettin’ exorcised, scared the yuppie masses as was **asked** of me. _Sue me_ fer attemptin’ to get paid fer hard work.”

“You _tried_... you succeeded in marrying a thirteen year old girl.”

“Shit, I wasn’t gonna _touch_ ‘er ‘til,” Betelgeuse stepped back and shook his head ”, ya _know_ , as it was comin’ outta my mouth, knew it wasn’t the right thing to say. So I saw ‘er _potential_ ‘nd took a gamble, not like I knew she was gonna grow up into a fuckin’ smoke show. S’a story that’ll go down in history... what is the old tale? Hades and Persephone?”

“Why are you so _mental_?” Barbara snapped. 

“Set your anger aside, just for now,” Adam squeezed her arms, then looked to Betelgeuse “, swear on Lydia’s life... swear that you didn’t know.”

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes. Squaring up, after stretching out his extremities, he held up on hand while the other crossed his heart. 

“I swear to ya, th’ Maitland clan, that I didn’t know ‘bout a contract showin’ up that would,” Betelgeuse took a sharp inhale, the echoes of Lydia whispering his name into the night “, cause a small civil war.”

“And you’re going to _believe_ him?”

“Yes,” Adam touched her shoulder “, because Lydia does.”

“Speakin’ _of_ , the ol’ ball’n chain’s callin’ me, so we gotta wrap this up.”

“That’s good! She’s awake and we can get this sorted. I’ll keep Barbara calm while you get Lydia.” Adam seemed confident, nodding to himself when Betelgeuse snapped away. 

Barbara stared where Betelgeuse once was, her throat tight in a stew of emotions. 

“I can’t do it, Adam.”

“I know, but-“

“No, you’re not listening to me. I _can’t_. I refuse to sit down while Lydia pretends she didn’t lie to my face about aiding and abetting the creepy dead guy who attempted to take her from us.”

“She’s never pretended about anything, we haven’t really given her the opportunity to go in depth. I think we should hear them out.”

“Adam... I love you, I love your heart. But you know how it’s going to go, you saw how glamoured she is. I know she’s going to choose him and it would break my heart.”

“What other option do we have?”

“I’m going back to Juno, we can get reassigned, new house or something. Lydia can be grown up all she wants, but I won’t be here when it all falls apart.”

“Barbara?”

“You can come with me, you can stay here, you can catch up later. I don’t care, as long as I don’t have to see how much he’s corrupted her. If she wants to be grown up, she’s got her wish.”

Barbara knocked on the bricks, the makeshift door rattling dust about the floor. Any protests from Adam were met with a waving hand. When the door opened just wide enough, Barbara squeezed through, and Adam heard her begin to run until her footfalls disappeared.

It had happened at both lightening speed and slow motion. Adam stood at the open door, his hands out, confused and stunned. 

—

The promise to clean out the attic tomorrow failed to come to fruition. 

Lydia spent five days in the attic, periodically filtering in and out with a mug of coffee or tumbler of whiskey. Any creak from the home, and she would be up the stairs, awaiting for a green light and mist to deep through the chimney brick, just to be met with the same dingy light and empty space. Her heart hurt with each tease, the wound refusing to heal as the days went on. 

She had anticipated these days, each entertainment of the thought pushed away. Betelgeuse and keeping up with him had been her focus, he had consumed so much time, she hadn’t been able or willing to prepare herself for the fallout that would come at the hands of her found parents. It was a peculiar pain Lydia lived with, knowing that if given the chance, she would choose the relationship she had built with Betelgeuse again. Still, that thought always fell short when another groan would bellow through the house, and Lydia would check _’just to be safe’_. 

On day five, Betelgeuse entered the attic with a cigarette in hand, after his wife had disappeared for the better part of an hour. He found her sitting on the floor, beside the model. 

Lydia looked up to him, a neutral expression on her mug. He offered her the half burned dart, which she took with a small smile. Betelgeuse groaned as he dropped to his knees, settling himself beside her. His thighs touched hers and Lydia felt a familiar arm snake along her back, grabbing at her waist. 

“Didn’t mean to vanish on you.” Lydia spoke before exhaling, eyes trained on the blue smoke radiating from the cherry. 

“Ya know me babes, I’m ‘n easy goin’ guy.”

“Still.” Two fingers held out the cigarette, which he took and placed between his lips. 

Betelgeuse was unsure of what to say that would alleviate what she felt. In a rare act of self awareness, he kept his trap shut, opting to tap his digits against the curve of her side. 

“If Barbara hasn’t come back by now, she’s not going to.” Lydia added. 

“How ya know that?”

“‘Cause I know her,” Lydia looked to the brick wall “, if she doesn’t fold in two days, she won’t fold at all.”

“Swear to ya, cross my heart ‘n all, I didn’t do nothin’ to make her-“

“I know. Weirdly enough, I know,” She placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing the ample flesh “, Adam would’ve sold you up river if you had.” Of all that had happened, the _only_ thing she knew to be certain was that Betelgeuse hadn’t fanned the flames in the attic. 

—

Five days turned into weeks. Homeostasis had returned to the house atop the hill, where the neighbours would look up and wonder about the lonely gothic beauty. 

Inside the walls, two individuals, not yet _lovers_ but held a strong partnership, cohabited. 

When her mind would get caught up in a negative feedback loop, his hands would rub at her shoulders. He would whisper in her ear, raunchy compliments and dark humour, until he obtained a smile. She would listen to his past schemes and would offer her insight, patching up weak points in his plots. They would discuss together possibilities, where they could go, and what they could do.

Days kept going by, each dawn signifying progress. Lydia spent less days wondering about Barbara and how she was,  
focusing that energy into her creations. She ventured further beyond the small reach of her comfort zone, with her husband close in tow, taking photographs for print and references to paint.

Her twentieth birthday sat just over the horizon. Not one for extravagant parties or gatherings of celebration, Lydia gave into Betelgeuse’s suggestion to get herself a set of wheels after he mentioned a seller of bones a state over; some old woman who set up a roadside stand every full moon on an unmarked red dirt road. 

For the first time, he allowed himself to be seen by the living. As long as he stayed within Lydia’s range, he could manipulate his features. He still looked a dirty, used cars salesman; perfect for their outing to purchase a vehicle, to feed the impulses they shared for excitement. 

Betelgeuse kept his arm slung around her shoulder, his eyes scanning the men that looked at them. Lydia paid no mind to the males that leered, distracted by the lines of cars she could select and the chill of her husband’s body beside her. Her own hand slid around his back, squeezing the pudge of his muffin top, making her smile as she shopped. 

Lydia stopped when she found _the one_. A hearse, one that ran like a dream when they took it for a test. There wasn’t much conversation, Lydia wondered if she could convert the back into a den for rest while they travelled and Betelgeuse snorted, telling her he could do anything she wanted with a snap of his fingers. 

“Guess I should flag one of ‘em down.” Lydia chuckled, gesturing to the group of three tweed clad men up the lot. 

“Lemme handle it, babes, I can see ‘em droolin’ from ‘ere.”

It was an easy choice, as Lydia saw it. No sleazy salesman could best her very own in the game. From her purse came a wad of cash, retrieved from the bank just an hour ago. Betelgeuse took her hand by the back, not by the palm filled with the roll of hundreds. With force, he pulled her flush against him, claiming her mouth with his own. Lydia squeaked against his crushing lips, indulging him a moment before batting him away. 

“Gotta be _dominant_.” Betelgeuse licked his lips. 

“Uh huh, sure,” Lydia rolled her eyes as she smiled, giving him a playful slap on the chest “, get this over with so we can go home.”

Lydia only waited fifteen minutes before the men emerged, the living man pale white and sweating. Betelgeuse dropped the keys into her palm, then handed her three thousand dollars rolled up into a neat little cylinder. 

“Fetched ya a deal.”

“I expected no less.” Lydia dropped the money into her purse. 

“Coulda got it fer _free_.”

“And as we discussed, we only do so at _chain_ establishments. This is local.” Lydia kissed his cheek, her boots squeaking as she stood on her toes. 

Betelgeuse opened the driver seat door, then snapped himself into the passenger seat. They spent hours driving around, hitting the back roads, stopping every now and then for a photograph or for Lydia to grab a sandwich. They talked antiques, movies, music Lydia was introducing him to. The moon was high when they returned, Betelgeuse holding her hand while she moved up the house stairs. 

Like many of their evenings, it was low key. Just the two of them, wrapped up on the couch. There were times Lydia would ask if he ever grew bored, and he would always respond the same, with a wave of his hand and a negatory noise. He insists retirement suits him, but Lydia knew he hadn’t quite retired. He liked to pester the folks in the neighbourhood, anyone she dared complain about, and it was her best kept secret that sometimes she complained just to see what he could do to the target. She could simply ask, and he would be powerless to deny, but it amused her to watch his emotions effect his creativity. 

Betelgeuse still annoyed her plenty. Lydia and her husband had spent a few nights, yelling at one another about something trivial; _stop leaving bug husks on the kitchen table, if you’re going to steal my underwear at least make sure it’s not part of a set_. The past they shared often went to the wayside, long resolved. The trauma of that night never went away, but as their relationship grew stronger, she felt the wound grow over with callused flesh. The kind of healing done not in a professional hospital, rather a field hospital that remained painfully underfunded. Still, it had healed over, and Lydia was thankful for that. 

She would find eclectic gifts on her bed, her vanity, her easel; wherever the whimsy struck him. A necklace of teeth, a bottle of bonafide love potion sealed in wax, and crystals unseen to the living masses were few among many. She saved them all, placing them on display wherever the home needed her husbands touch. Their tastes merged together in the most wonderful way, turning their house into an art instillation; a haven built for two.


	13. Change, But Only in Moderation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just like that, we made it folks! This is the chapter that started it, funnily enough. 
> 
> I hope you’ve enjoyed, I’m certainly not putting out Isben, but all the comments and kudos have been so welcomed during this fic! I’ve read and re-read them throughout this fic and they never fail to make me smile, which can definitely be hard to come by in this economy. 
> 
> Enough rambling! Please enjoy this final chapter and I’ll see you in the next Beetlejuice fic I inevitably write! Or maybe the next Clannibal fic... haven’t decided yet.

Lydia stirred as Betelgeuse nipped at her neck, teeth sharp but unthreatening. He sucked her pale flesh until it turned red and blue, marking his wife as she loved so. 

“Hmm?” Lydia moaned, half from sleep and the other arousal. Her eyes still closed, she rolled onto her back, hands grasping at his shoulders as she pulled him with her. Her legs wrapped around his waist and Lydia couldn’t help but sigh when his weight pressed flush to her. 

Her shirt was gone along with any remaining cloth, Betelgeuse vanishing them. Dragging his tongue down her neck, between her collarbones, his clasps his lips around one nipple while skilled fingers toyed with the other. Lydia was already panting, red flooding her usually pale face, as her hips teased against his rock hard cock. More awake now, her hands lowered between them, fumbling for a beat on the button of his pants. As the zipper came undone, she pushed the material down, feeling him pop free and prod against her soaking core. Her hips moved, teasing the head down to his balls, coating his cock in her juices. 

Betelgeuse thrusted into her with little ceremony, eyes closing and savouring the sweet noise of relief that tumbled from Lydia’s lips. He dropped his head next to hers, grunting with each sharp thrust in a way that left Lydia wanting more. Her hands gripped at his back, taking her nails down and back up. She gasped when he grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head, his hips speeding up. Her eyes rolled back, balling her fists in repetition, letting her cries of desperation into the night. His tongue slipped between his lips, licking at the sweat pooling on her neck with a savage noise. 

Summoning a phantom limb, he teased her clit. Lydia let out a scream when she felt digits softly roll her bundle of nerves. She could’ve swore he was mumbling something in her ear, but the orgasm came to a sudden peak that left her moaning unintelligible curses. Only then did Betelgeuse press himself as far as he could go and unload inside of her. 

They laid together like that, Lydia using her now free hands to stroke his hair away from his face. She pulled him by the cheeks, demanding a kiss, and he was happy to oblige. 

“Gotta hit the neither, babes. May be a few days.” Betelgeuse grumbled into her ear, smirking to himself as Lydia let out a noise of discontent, both at his unexpected trip and him pulling out of her. 

“Gotta? Somethin’ wrong?” Lydia yawned. 

“Nah, nah, jus’ bureaucracy bullshit. Ya know tha’ drill.” With a snap, he cleaned the mess between her legs. Lydia stretched, rolling over to the middle of the bed, arms cradling her head as she watched Betelgeuse straighten himself out. 

After donning his coat with a flair, he felt a warm hand pull at his own. He toppled over, on top of Lydia, quick to grab another kiss.

“Don’t take _too_ long, I kinda like having you around.” Lydia chuckled, settling back against her pillow. 

“Babes, fer ya, I’d run’a _marathon_ in fifteen seconds flat.”

“Oh yeah, pinnacle of fitness.” Lydia mumbled, and with that, she was dead to the world. 

Betelgeuse licked his lips, able to taste his wife there. With one more look at his wife, naked and the blankets just around her waist, he dusted off his shoulders and made his way through her vanity mirror straight into **Hell**. 

The god damn waiting room. 

“Take a num-oh shit, what do **  
you** want?” Miss Argentina scowled at the ghoul. 

“No appointment, just comin’ t’say hello... old friends, ya know I like t’be polite. S’pose it wouldn’t be too much trouble ta let me walk through, huh? Unless ya want me to wait here... think the suckers waitin’ would like ta know about the stage six **loop hole**?”

“Anything that gets you away from me,” she waved him off with a teal hand, hitting a button to tick up the now serving number “, NEXT!”

Betelgeuse adjust the lapels of his coat, making his way to the bullpen of suffering. Past the souls of suicide row, the offices stretched out through a never ending hallway, doors on either side. Countless agents, once living souls who blatantly disregarded their flesh castles for cheap thrills and addictions. 

He knew where he wanted to go, his steps purposeful, eyes trained forward until his destination fell into view. A golden plate just right to the door; _Marcus Bonnefont_. Betelgeuse twisted the knob without knocking, far from concerned if he was interrupting an appointment, possibly even years in the making. 

Not that he should be; agents who associate with Betelgeuse don’t get work, and man, does that make for one boring eternity.

“Betelgeuse, you handsome bastard! Hey,” the slick haired man, a used car salesman in life, pointed two fingers guns at the poltergeist “, how’s the wife?”

“Happy wife, happy eternity of bein’ bonded, ami’right?”

“Really? Not something one expects from **the** great bachelor of all time. I thought you’d regret it, gave ya a week tops! Lost a shit ton to Carl in accounting because of that.”

“Never bet against the B-man, Marc, ya should know that by now.”

“Aye, aye, fair enough! So what brings you here?”

“Purely social, won’t keep ya. Ya see, the missus b’n teachin’ me somethin’ she calls _common curtesy_. Said people like thank you gifts so,” Betelgeuse rustled in his coat pockets and pulled out a bottle of scotch far too large for the leather confines “, here ya are. It’s living shit, so it’s **shit** that won’t get ya drunk, but damn do Russians know how t’make a delicious liquor.”

“Well shit, ain’t this a surprise! She seems to have been quite the influence, never thought I’d see the day.” Marc handled the bottle, holding the bronze liquid to the light.

“She brings out tha best’a me, what can I say.” Betelgeuse sat down in the chair across from Marcus, tenting his fingers.

“Gotta ask, though,” Betelgeuse added “, the **Matronomicon**?”

“You wanted _binding_ , it was the strongest binding contract we have.”

“ _Incantation control_? Talk about **over** kill.”

“How the hell did you think I got it pushed through so fast? Once the higher ups knew someone would have a leash on you? Got processed right away, before her eighteenth, just like you asked. Shit, you’re lucky I got it passed Juno at all.”

“All worked out in the end for me, no hard feelin’s now. Helped sell it, ‘nyway, bein’ side swiped like that. **Hey** , now ya can tell e’ryone ya got one up on lil ol’ _me_.” 

The men shared a laugh and a quick swing of Russian scotch. Then Betelgeuse stood and shook the hand of the man that made it all happen. 

Betelgeuse took his leave, hoping he’d never have to spend another god damn second in the pit that was the Bureau.


End file.
